The Right Choice
by Ravenclaw992
Summary: Mary Margaret has an interesting conversation with Mr. Gold as she struggles to decide what to do about David. Appearances can be deceiving. And how do you know when you're making the right choice? Takes place during/after the 13th episode. Gold/MM
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer: I do not own _Once Upon A Time_. Mary Margaret and Mr. Gold do not belong to me (pity). If wishes could come true, they would. Anyone know where I can find a certain powerful imp? (-; **

**A/N: This came from a stroke of inspiration and it was begging to be written. Meant to be a one-shot. I only say that because the ending is left a bit open for speculation. **

**Enjoy reading and let me know what you think. (= **

**By the way, did anyone else feel bad for Mary Margaret in this recent episode? **

**Takes place during the 13th episode. Though, I somehow drew a little inspiration from the 12th episode as well, particularly the scene between Belle/Rumpel where he first mentions his son. Just a fun fact. **

**"The Right Choice"**

_**Listen, listen**_

_**I would take a whisper**_

_**If that's all you had to give**_

_**But it isn't, isn't**_

_**You could come and save me**_

_**Try to chase the crazy right out of my head***_

In all the time Mary Margaret had lived in Storybrooke, never had she been particularly hated or even disliked. After that unpleasant scene with Kathryn in the school-the sensation of Kathryn's slap still reverberating across her cheekbone-Mary Margaret could now say otherwise.

Everywhere she went the citizens of Storybrooke stared at her, _glared_ at her, piercing daggers into her spine as she passed by them, fighting to uphold even a shred of her dignity.

Mothers firmly took their young ones by the hand and crossed the street to avoid her, like she had the plague. Children she knew, children she taught and had grown to love, now eyed her with hard confusion as their caretakers backtracked down the sidewalk.

Often there was the bitter whispered word of "tramp" or "homewrecker", each syllable cutting into her heart and whipping across her chest, the breath in her lungs struggling for release.

It was a brutal, unbearable feeling-being hated.

It was a merciless chill that seeped into her bones and poisoned her mind.

The sensation of cruel eyes watching her never ceased. The stinging of warm tears burned the edges of her green eyes as she tried so desperately to hold it together. Mary Margaret refused to cry or show weakness in front of her peers; easier said than done.

All this because she could not fight what her heart was telling her-that she and David belonged together, come what may. Being with David seemed right, but the cold, harsh aftermath tugged at her insides.

All this because she had fallen for someone she was not meant to have and her heart was unable to understand it.

A solid weight crashed into Mary Margaret as she briskly turned the corner, snapping her out of her pitiful reverie.

"Oh, I'm so sorry," Mary Margaret instantly apologized, forever good-natured to those around her, no matter what was whispered behind her back.

It was Granny, carrying a couple of bags in her frail arms. Upon stumbling, Mary Margaret had caught the older woman by the wrists to prevent her from falling backwards. Granny forced the grip off like Mary Margaret's fingertips had burned her skin. There was an accusing stare in Granny's weary eyes.

"You should be ashamed of yourself," the older woman spat at Mary Margaret before rushing on down the street.

A rush of warmth touched Mary Margaret's cheeks and her breath hitched as a sob threatened to choke her throat. Mind spinning wildly and ears echoing with Granny's sharp words, she was not sure how much more hatred she could stand.

What had she done to deserve such hostility? It seemed she was on everyone's hit list, except for Henry and Emma.

Mary Margaret shuffled on, eyes downcast lest she observed another hateful, searing glare.

_Tap, tap, tap..._

The light sound of a cane hitting the cement reached her ears as Mr. Gold approached in her direction. Instinctively, flashes of him brutally attacking that man invaded her mind.

She knew she should be more afraid of him, but today she did not have the strength to battle both fear and hurt. The hurt won out.

Mr. Gold's face was blank as he passed her, his brown eyes only lingering on her for a brief moment.

Mary Margaret sighed-perhaps with relief-as he was nearly behind her, no glare or harsh words admitted. Then again, despite the trouble and reputation that flanked the pawnbroker, he'd always been polite to her in passing.

Out of the corner of her eye, Mr. Gold paused and glanced back, mouth drawing open to speak what she imagined to be belittling words. _No, I can't take any more hurt. It's too much, _she thought, heart hammering as she abruptly whirled to face him.

"Look, if you're going to call me a homewrecker or...or tell me I should be ashamed of myself, I'd prefer it if you...if you kept it to yourself," she cut him off, that sob clogging her throat once more. "Please," she added for good measure.

Mary Margaret dared to glance up and observe Mr. Gold's expression. Dusty brown hair fell across his face, his brown eyes roaming hers. The most surprising detail was the small smile that quirked his lips.

"Actually, Ms. Blanchard," he carefully addressed her in his rich Scottish accent. "I was simply hoping to wish you a good day. No sarcasm intended."

Heat rose to Mary Margaret's face as she realized her mistake. The world seemed to spin on its axis, the anxiety caving in on her, head dipping with shame.

"Oh," she murmured foolishly. "I...I'm so...sorry," she gasped, the same words she'd uttered to Granny before-

Mr. Gold shifted his weight on his cane to catch her arm, steadying her. It was then she became aware that she was growing weak at the knees, tears streaming down her delicate face and dripping onto her trembling lips.

Salty and bitter-just like the harsh phrases flung at her.

With his guidance, Mary Margaret settled onto a stone ledge in front of a clothes shop, with Mr. Gold occupying the space beside her. This was the closest the two had been since...ever. Their arms were brushing slightly.

Eyes scanning her face, Mr. Gold reached into his suit's inner pocket and offered her a black silk handkerchief to wipe away her fallen tears.

"No...I don't need..." Mary Margaret was silenced by another wracking fit of sobs.

'Please," he insisted, the silk smoothing across her skin. Mary Margaret noticed Mr. Gold's lips grow tense-something told her he wasn't very accustomed to comforting hopeless, crying women. The thought of his vulnerability almost made her smile.

Mary Margaret accepted the handkerchief and dabbed at her tears. For a second, she considered blowing her nose, but decided against it. That was assuming he'd want the silk cloth back.

"Thank you," she said, handing it back to him. It swiftly vanished into his suit once more. Another gasp of breath, but at least the worst sobs were over. "Why are you being polite to me? No offense," she questioned, finding the man's concern unexpected.

"None taken," he smoothly replied, resting his cane between his legs and folding his slender hands atop the head. "The guilt of your choice was burden enough."

"My choice...somehow it no longer feels like the right one," Mary Margaret whispered mostly to herself. If being with David wasn't the right choice, then what was? Where did she go from here?

Mr. Gold was quiet a long moment, contemplating the correct words.

"The thing about the right choice, dearie...It's never an easy path to follow. There is an easy choice and a right choice. Never do the two coincide," he advised her wisely.

Mary Margaret nodded absently, too dazed to speak. Of all the people to seek comfort in, life had handed her Mr. Gold, the most feared man in Storybrooke.

An odd notion struck Mary Margaret as she scrutinized him, her mind working out the meaning between the lines.

"Did you ever love someone? So much that you were forced to make a choice for them? That you never wondered whether it was worth it because in your heart you knew it was meant to happen?" Mary Margaret hated to sound so fairytale-esque, but the words blurted out of her mouth before her brain could scold her.

Mr. Gold avoided her gaze and softly released a breath he must have been holding while she posed her question.

"Yes, dearie. I have," he answered flatly, his fingers gripping the cane a little more tightly. Usually so focused and calculating, his brown eyes were a little dreamy, as if he were reminiscing about a memory long since past.

The revelation startled Mary Margaret. She'd known Mr. Gold for years, but she could never recall him with a beloved. Always the pawnbroker walked alone, no one daring enough to uncover what was underneath his carefully poised mask.

Of course, he must have loved once; she liked to hope that everyone captured that delightful sensation at least once in their lifetime. The only other word close to that feeling was _hope_, another missing piece in Storybrooke.

"What happened? If you don't mind me asking, that is," Mary Margaret hurried to cover her uncharacteristic rudeness. Mr. Gold's lips lifted in a solemn smile.

"I let her go," he emphasized each word in his soft-spoken manner. "And it was the worst mistake of my life." A pang of sympathy stretched across her heart. Never mind her own troubles. Would this lonely, feared man ever find his happy ending?

"Well, that doesn't mean it's hopeless," Mary Margaret replied, unaware that she was inching towards Mr. Gold's lean form, green eyes sparkling with child-like wonder. "One day you might find her again. Then, the two of you could be happy. If it's meant to be-"

"I'm afraid not, Ms. Blanchard," Mr. Gold overrode her words, gazing off into the distance. Mary Margaret stared at him, puzzled.

"Why not? Everyone deserves a happy ending," she told him in the same gentle tone she used with her children at school. "If you have hope-"

"She's dead, dearie," Mr. Gold abruptly intercepted, silencing her. Mary Margaret blushed-that was the second time she'd made a mistake. Her eyes became downcast, her body retreating to its normal, reserved posture.

"I'm sorry. I didn't realize..." Mary Margaret's voice trailed off. The unfortunate sadness of it all overwhelmed her. At least her supposed love was alive and within reach. Mary Margaret could not imagine the suffering Mr. Gold had experienced, no matter how intimidating he seemed.

"That a monster like me could love? Or be loved, for that matter." Mr. Gold finished her broken sentence, glancing down at her in an inquiring way.

Mary Margaret forced a smile and dared to lay a reassuring hand over his in a gesture of comfort. A strange expression crossed Mr. Gold's face as he studied her hand there, as if he did not know how to respond to the sudden act of kindness.

"You are not a monster," Mary Margaret reasoned. Inside, she felt it was the truth. Appearances could be deceiving. "You're just...misunderstood. A bit like Emma, really. You put walls around yourself to stop the pain getting through, to avoid getting hurt. It also prevents love from coming in."

Mary Margaret gazed meaningfully at Mr. Gold before taking back her hand. Mr. Gold was still as he absorbed her words. This was the longest conversation she ever held with the pawnbroker. The depth of it allowed her to view him in a new, better light.

"If it is any consolidation, I believe you have chosen the right path," he finally said, narrow smirk dominating his lips. Mary Margaret had decidedly shelved her expectations of him, but still she was taken aback by this admission.

"You do?" Those two words were barely a whisper. The wind picked up around them, but neither one registered the drop in temperature.

"A bit of advice, if I may, Ms. Blanchard," he suggested, her name lingering for a second on his tongue.

"Mary Margaret," she encouraged him, though what possessed her to do so, she could not readily say. Mr. Gold's grin widened slightly at the informal gesture.

"Mary Margaret," he complied, his thick barogue making her name flow richly from his lips. "If you decide to walk away now, I fear you'll regret it. Do not opt for the easy path simply because the right path appears discouraging."

Mary Margaret chose to take his advice to heart-being with David ultimately felt like the right path, no matter the awful attitudes of Storybrooke's residents.

"Thank you," she repeated sincerely. "I just wish there was a better way I could show my gratitude." Mr. Gold gracefully stood and peered down at her, the mask of control and power fixed in place.

"A favor will do, I think," Mr. Gold stated, leaning into his cane and looming above her.

Mary Margaret felt anxiety sweep over her, banishing her new found understanding of the pawnbroker. What could he possibly want of her?

"Name it," she urged him, lips quivering slightly.

A satisfied smirk dnaced on the edges of Mr. Gold's lips and amusement glinted in his eyes.

"I'll let you know, dearie." With that, Mr. Gold ambled away, leaving behind a stunned Mary Margaret.

The pawnbroker's words mesmerized her and struck a chord deep inside her.

Lifting her chin high, determination soaring through her, Mary Margaret intended to find David, her love.

Mary Margaret intended to follow the right choice, and to hell with the rest of Storybrooke.

...

* The song in the beginning is **"Echo" by Jason Walker. **

**So? What'd you think? I hope everyone enjoyed it and will give me their thoughts. **

**Too bad the show is going off for the Oscars. /= By the way, I am sitting in bed writing this at one in the morning because it has demanded to be written! Go figure. **

**Well, until next time, readers. **


	2. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer: _Once Upon a Time _is not mine to claim. The characters are not mine. ABC owns everything. **

**A/N: Okay, so this was supposed to have been a one-shot...but more inspiration and ideas have caught up with me. **

**Instead, this will probably turn into a type of challenge for me-a MM/Gold fic, since there are so few of them on here. Maybe I'll make MM/David endgame, but at this point I'm not sure-I'm simply letting my creativity lead the way. **

**Thank you to those who reveiwed the first chapter, by the way. Also, Belle will NOT be included. It would kinda make it even more complicated. **

**Enjoy! **

After her heart-wrenching scene with David-the word "tramp" plastered on her car in red paint-Mary Margaret allowed her tired feet to carry her to Granny's Diner.

Pausing at the entrance, Mary Margaret fought an internal battle, debating whether to go in and face the sharks awaiting her. Whether Ruby's irresistable, delicious coffee was worth it.

What if everyone stared at her? What if they shouted crude names at her?

Floating across her mind were Mr. Gold's words: _do not opt for the easy path simply because the right path appears discouraging. _Right. The right choice.

Mary Margaret wrung her hands together nervously.

If she walked into the diner, it meant she would charge into a humiliating, awkward situation, but she would also be defending her choice of choosing David. If she ran away, she would be a coward and they would be right. _I am not a coward, _she insisted to herself, dropping her hands.

Squaring her shoulders, Mary Margaret inhaled deeply, threw open the entrance door, and marched into the diner.

There were stares-endless, accusing stares-but no one shouted names at her. At least the public had that much consideration. Menus positioned in front of their faces, people glared at her, turning to their partners to whisper something about her.

Ruby finished handing a customer their order and spun animately in her direction. Mary Margaret noticed Ruby visibly pausing to study her. Would her friend also condemn her?

Red lips forcing a smile, Ruby inclined her red-streaked head. Mary Margaret's fingers gripped the edge of the bar until the knuckles turned bone white.

"Hello...Ruby," Mary Margaret whispered, the steam of her confidence emptying out of her. If Ruby snapped at her with the accusation of "tramp" or "homewrecker", Mary Margaret would crumble to the diner floor, sinking into her misery.

Instead, Ruby rested her elbows on the bar, leaning over and placing a gentle, comforting hand over Mary Margaret's own, just as Mary Margaret had done with Mr. Gold not too long ago.

It was a kind gesture and it puzzled Mary Margaret for she had not expected it today. Now Mary Margaret understood what Mr. Gold had been feeling during their little scene.

"Hey, Mary Margaret," Ruby answered back, deliberately voicing her words as loud as she dared, as if to mock the others with: _see? Take my example._ "Are you okay?"

Mary Margaret's lip quivered, her lungs grew cold, and her fingers slipped from the edge of the bar. Was she okay? _Far from it, actually, but thank you for asking._

Ruby blanched, realizing her mistake. Shaking her head frantically, Ruby's eyes became apologetic.

"Stupid question, I'm sorry," Ruby said, reduced to chewing on the back of a red pen used to scribble orders. People were still watching and Ruby glared at them. "People can be cruel. Listen, just ignore them. It's what I do."

Ruby straightened and grinned widely, hands planted on her hips like Wonder Woman. Mary Margaret gave a weak smile.

"Ruby...you're not a...a homewrecker," Mary Margaret stumbled over the last word, tears glistening in her green eyes. How many of these familiar passersby were thinking that word right now?

Ruby waved it off, scoffing boldly at it as if it were no big deal.

"Please. Mary Margaret, there have been people in this town who have done ten times worse than you," she pointed out with a long crimson fingernail. The bell chimed a silvery note behind them. "Exhibit A," Ruby muttered, eyes growing unfriendly and distant.

Mary Margaret was about to question who Ruby was talking about, but the soft tapping alerted her to the customer's identity. Mr. Gold.

"Ruby, I'd appreciate it if you kept your unfriendly comments to yourself. Unless you would rather enjoy an additional one hundred dollars for rent", the smooth accentuated voice criticized Ruby, making the girl's face pale. Still, she did not apologize.

"What can I get for you?" Ruby's tone was flat and lacking in enthusiasm, but Mr. Gold did not seem to care either way. Tapping the red pen impatiently against the bar, Ruby's eyes narrowed.

"Just a coffee, dearie. Hurry along, now," he advised her with a smirk.

Ruby glared piercingly at him, but did as she was told. Mary Margaret imagined that Ruby would infiltrate the man's coffee one of these days.

"Ms. Blanchard," Mr. Gold greeted her politely, a dip of his head.

Mary Margaret recalled their odd scene on the street and she offered him a kind smile. If this was the only person-besides Henry, Emma, and Ruby-to treat her with some form of decency, then so be it.

"Mr. Gold," she returned warmly. Ruby returned with his coffee and practically shoved it at him.

As the pawnbroker leaned over to accept it, swooping in close to Mary Margaret, his scent wafted around her. Rich, a bit eccentric, earthy-it tickled her nose in a delightful way.

Mr. Gold grinned down at her-he had noticed her moment there.

"And a hot cocoa for Ms. Blanchard. With extra cinnamon, if I'm not mistaken," Mr. Gold ordered for her, tilting his head inquiringly at her. Ruby's eyes swiveled to Mary Margaret.

"Yes, Ruby. That would be nice," Mary Margaret agreed and Ruby rushed off with a bit more bounce in her step this time. Mary Margaret could sense Mr. Gold peering at her and a soft blush rose to her face.

"Still chasing after the right choice, I see," he commented wistfully. Mary Margaret was suddenly aware of how close in proximity they were, their bodies only inches apart.

"How are you so sure I am?" Mary Margaret gave him a sidelong glance, green eyes wide. Mr. Gold calmly sipped his coffee; she knew he was selecting his words carefully.

"Otherwise, you would not be here. You would have run," he mused, motioning with a hand to the diner's entrance door. Mary Margaret nodded thoughtfully-hadn't she considered turning back?

Ruby slid back into view, holding out Mary Margaret's hot cocoa, a generous sprinkling of cinnamon decorating the whipped cream. Ruby shot Mr. Gold a suspicious look before being called over to a table in the corner.

"Would you care to join me, dearie?" Mr. Gold headed for a table near the window and Mary Margaret hesitated only a moment before following.

As she did, she noticed every head whirl in her direction. _How must this look to them? Stealing David away one day and sipping drinks with Storybrooke's most feared resident the next? _

Settling into the seat across from the pawnbroker, Mary Margaret busied herself with tasting her delicious drink. The cinnamon and chocolate danced on her tongue and it put a genuine smile on her face. Mr. Gold was observing her with amusement.

"Did you...did you want to call in that favor?" Mary Margaret asked tentatively, wondering at the man's request for her presence.

Part of her preferred to prolong the favor as much as possible-Mr. Gold was known for interacting in shady business deals. What would he ask of her?

Mr. Gold raised his cup to his lips, his scrutinizing brown eyes watching her over the rim.

"Decidedly not, Ms. Blanchard. Perhaps I simply enjoy your company," he replied, long fingers drumming against the side of the cup. Mary Margaret could not help feeling like a small mouse, being eyed by a vulture under Mr. Gold's observant eye.

Over his shoulder, Mary Margaret noticed a pair of women whispering and glaring daggers at her. They never even tried to hide it that well. A sting sliced into her chest as Mary Margaret imagined the words passing between them.

"Ignore them, dearie. People will talk, but there is not one person in this diner brave enough to call you out in front of someone like me," Mr. Gold told her and she knew he was right. The people in this diner were much too afraid of Mr. Gold to approach their table, lest he direct his attention on them.

Mary Margaret smiled sheepishly and slunk back in her chair, hands curled around her half-empty cup of cocoa. Then the meaning of his words sunk in deeper.

"You asked me to join you. Is...is your company for my benefit?" Mary Margaret watched him curiously.

Mr. Gold's lips lifted a little higher as he sipped his drink once more, hinting at her answer. Mary Margaret was stunned-confusion poured through her as she struggled to understand his intentions.

Just then, the bell chimed to signal a new customer and in strode the Mayor, of all people. Every stitch in place, every curl of hair soft and flawless, she reeked power and control just like Mr. Gold.

Instead of speaking to Ruby, the Mayor spun on her heel and focused her imposing stare on the two of them, lips shifting into a smirk. _Oh, no...please, no, _Mary Margaret pleaded the heavens.

"Look what we have here. Fancy finding you two here together. Haven't you done enough damage to your reputation, Ms. Blanchard?"

The Mayor's gaze was piercing as it dropped onto Mary Margaret's shoulders. Mary Margaret stared into her cup like it was the most interesting thing in the world, secretly wanting to be anywhere else.

"Haven't you caused the girl enough trouble, Regina?" Mr. Gold's gaze was locked onto the pristine Mayor. Regina bristled and her lips transformed into a distasteful pout. One of her heeled shoes tapped angrily on the tiled floor.

"Mr. Gold, I'd appreciate it if I could speak to Ms. Blanchard alone," Regina hinted, irritation raditing off her. Mary Margaret felt her lungs crack and squeeze tightly. What did the Mayor want to say to her now? Did she too want to jab at Mary Margaret with a stick?

Mr. Gold remained in his seat, a thin smile resting on his face. Darkness cloaked his eyes and tension sparked between him and the Mayor.

"I'd rather you wait until the two of us are finished..._please,"_ the last word was hissed at the Mayor, nearly sounding menacing. Mary Margaret did not know why, but that word caused the Mayor's face to pale, her body stiffening.

Furious, the Mayor leaned down, slapping her palms down on the table and gritting her teeth beneath her twisted lips. The table shook slightly and some of Mary Margaret's cocoa spilled onto the table.

"I'll have you know I am through playing games with _you, _" the Mayor snapped at Mr. Gold, though his expression stayed calm and unfazed. "I intend to speak to Ms. Blanchard, even if I have to drag her out of this diner. You wouldn't want her to be exposed as a _coward_, would you?"

Everyone in the diner was watching the show, eyes boggling. No one else may have registered it, but Mary Margaret observed Mr. Gold's smile becoming forced and tense, his brown eyes dangerous and cold.

Pushing against the Mayor's weight, Mr. Gold casually stood up, retrieving his cane. Only inches from the Mayor's face, his thick accent wrapped around her.

"You just remember who is in control here, Madame Mayor. Just remember the consequences should you break the terms of your contract," he warned her softly. For once, Mary Margaret noticed a peculiar emotion in the Mayor's face-fear.

Offering Mary Margaret a last incline of the head, Mr. Gold limped out of the diner, silence licking at his heels.

"Not the best company to keep, Ms. Blanchard," the Mayor coolly advised her, glowering down at her. A sudden burst of confidence shot through her-though where it came from, she hadn't a clue.

"Neither are you," Mary Margaret blurted out, much to the Mayor's disdain. the Mayor's lips grew into a thin, angry line, one fine eyebrow raised in speculation.

Sliding swfitly into Mr. Gold's vacant seat, the Mayor did not hesitate to retort back at Mary Margaret.

"These glares and whispers from your fellow peers? You only have yourself to blame for that. The way I see it, you deserve to be condemned for such a despicable act," the Mayor told her, folding her hands on top of the table.

"I...I just..." Mary Margaret tried to speak, to defend herself somehow, but the words became clogged in her throat. The Mayor held up a hand to stop her.

"Ms. Blanchard, you no longer have the right to speak. It's my turn now and you _will_ listen," the Mayor demanded, sharp voice filling the diner.

Everyone heard everything. Ruby was glaring at the Mayor's head and squeezing the pen so hard, Mary Margaret would not be surprised if it exploded into pieces.

"Today, I have received a number of complaints from many concerned parents, Ms. Blanchard. Seems they don't like the idea of their children being instructed by a...shall we say..._tramp_," the Mayor spat out viciously. "As a parent myself, I agree. And as mayor of this town, it is my duty to do what is proper for the community."

Mary Margaret knew what was coming next, but still her heart thudded against her chest, shattering. _No, anything but this..._

Satisfied with Mary Margaret's silence, the Mayor continued. A victorious smirk played on her perfectly poised lips.

"Ms. Blanchard, you're fired from your teaching job," she declared, crushing Mary Margaret's last hope of things getting better. Teaching was her specialty, where she could escape the troubles daunting her elsewhere.

Mary Margaret's hands gripped the cup of cocoa, shaking ferociously. A single tear dripped down her rosy face and mixed with the creamy chocolate drink.

The Mayor rose from her seat and Mary Margaret released a ragged breath, thinking that the worst of the scene was over. However, the Mayor was not quite finished yet.

"As for the rest of you," she addressed the crowd in the diner. "Should anyone even consider helping Ms. Blanchard's...unfortunate...situation, I will see to it that the guilty persons are destroyed far worse than she is," the Mayor announced.

Abruptly, whispers floated around the room and people shook their heads at Mary Margaret. Closing her eyes, Mary Margaret attempted to shut out the horrid atmosphere.

"Enjoy your cocoa, Ms. Blanchard," the Mayor remarked with finality before striding confidently out the door. It was all breaking down inside Mary Margaret-the weight of the guilt devoured her.

Abandoning the cup of cocoa, Mary Margaret dashed out of the diner, laughter following closely behind and the tears clouding her vision until she was drowning in the safety of her bed at home.


	3. Chapter 3

**Disclaimer: I do not own **_**Once**_**. Everything belongs to ABC. **

**A/N: Wow, I loved the response from you guys! So much that I am writing this at midnight and updating. Never did I think I was going to do so much for this idea. By the way, this is kind of a long chapter. **

**Enjoy!**

The worst feeling in the world-in light of recent events-is not being hated, though that sensation ranked pretty close to the top.

It wasn't knowing that everyone had it out for you, that whispers were flying behind your back, and you were the laughingstock of the town.

No, the worst feeling in the world had to be the breaking of a heart, cruel nails tearing it to pieces while you could only endure the suffering.

Tears flowed across Mary Margaret's reddened face as her mind flashed with that humiliating scene, over and over. That, added with the turmoil of David...it was too much. The right choice or not-ultimately, it hurt worse than any physical pain.

Curled in a ball on her bed, Mary Margaret clutched a flower-patterned pillow to her chest, green eyes gazing at the wall, but seeing the diner instead and Regina's smirk shoved in her face. Occasionally, a rough breath escaped her, but otherwise the silence crushed her.

This was the sorrowful state Emma found her in, boots clumping across the floorboards as her roommate entered the small bedroom.

A rush of heat traveled over Mary Margaret's neck as she imagined Emma studying her, concerned yet too uncomfortable to offer any real consoling gestures.

"You feel like talking about it yet?" Emma knew. Of course she did; she was the Sheriff. Mary Margaret sank deeper into the mattress, the pillow smushed in her arms.

"Nope," she whispered, the word breaking as it fell unsteadily from her mouth.

Emma did not leave. She clearly wanted to help Mary Margaret, but it was a difficult task for her-connecting with someone.

"You...want to be alone?" Emma's voice was hesitant, as if she did not know whether to leave Mary Margaret in peace or stay. Mary Margaret drew in a shaky breath.

"Nope." She desperately needed some form of comfort, a familiar face that would not glare or tear her to shreds.

There was a groan of the bedsprings and Emma was stretching out on the bed beside Mary Margaret's huddled form. It was still for a long, tense moment.

Unexpectedly, Emma lightly laid a hand on Mary Margaret's shoulder and patted it for comfort. _It's okay, _she was trying to tell her. A fresh wave of tears blurred her vision, her body violently trembling with the sob.

"We'll find a way through this," Emma insisted, keeping the hand on Mary Margaret's shoulder. It sounded more like an empty promise-just words spoken to make her feel better.

"I don't think I can this time," Mary Margaret uttered, shaking her head. Maybe she should just stay here for the rest of her days. It would be easier than facing the crowd of vultures out _there_.

"We'll find a way," Emma repeated softly. The hand was comforting, letting Mary Margaret know there was someone who cared.

With that thought in mind, Mary Margaret closed her bloodshot eyes and slipped into a restless sleep.

...

_A dock...a boat..._

_Shadows..._

_It was dark; she could barely see her fingers tying the rope to keep the boat steady. _

_The dream shifted like a wave on the ocean. _

_A strange, dark figure. It was impossible to make out the face. _

_"So, then you must be-" The name never reached her lips. What was his name? It was a powerful one, she knew that. _

_She should be afraid of him...but somehow she wasn't. She locked eyes with him as his blackened nails traced the edge of her face, inches away..._

_Long hair. She had long black hair. Who was she? Who was __**he**__? _

_"I need a cure," she pleaded him, though for what she could not recall. Pain in her chest, memories-_

_"What ails you, child?" Thick, lilting voice; a bit familiar, but she could not remember..._

_"A broken heart," she answered with ease, as if reading from a learned script. Maybe this was a memory. But how? _

_The man leaned closer to her face, the details shadowy. If only she could reach out and touch him, see him..._

_"Ah, the most painful of afflictions." Darkness and the dream vanished, the pieces slipping through her fingers like straw on a wheel. Spin, spin, spin..._

...

It was early in the morning and Emma was mad as hell.

Bristling in a most unattractive way, Emma sped down the streets of Storybrooke until she reached the Mayor's office, storming inside and not caring whether Regina heard the thunderous slamming of her door.

Good. Let her know that trouble was coming for her.

Bursting through Regina's office door, Emma caught the smartly dressed Mayor on the phone, having a delightful conversation it seemed.

Before Regina could object, Emma grabbed the phone and slammed it down on the receiver, leaning forward so that Regina had no choice but to look at her.

"Excuse me, Miss Swan. I believe I was not finished with that conversation. It was rather important-" Emma smirked and gripped the edges of Regina's desk.

"Unfortunately, I don't give a damn how important it was. You have _no right_ to do that to her," she practically screamed in Regina's face. The Mayor hardly flinched.

Swiftly getting to her feet, Regina eyed Emma like a disgusting bug that she desperately wanted to swat.

"By 'she' I assume you mean the pure, wonderful Ms. Blanchard. How is the brilliant teacher doing this morning?" Regina was mocking her and it only served to anger Emma even more.

"Excuse me, _Madame Mayor, _but you don't have the power to fire Mary Margaret," Emma accused her, grinning with victory. Everything would be okay; Mary Margaret would return to work.

Regina folded her hands in front of her torso and tilted her head inquiringly.

"Is that so? I suppose you're right, Miss Swan. My mistake," Regina stated, letting this end all too easily. Emma's guard was up-who knew what other aces the Mayor was stashing in her sleeves.

"Right, so Mary Margaret _will _continue teaching," Emma clarified, ready to stomp out of there, proud and victorious. Regina's menacing grin increased and a deep cold surrounded Emma.

"Oh, no. Ms. Blanchard is still absent of a job. You misunderstand me, Miss Swan,"Regina responded, heels clicking sharply as she circled the desk.

"You see, I _do_ have extensive power in this town and you'll find that some people are easily influenced by my power. Take the school board for one. The parents, the teachers. Not a single teacher or individual at that school would defend Mary Margaret. I was simply acting as the messenger yesterday," Regina explained, her turn to smirk widely.

Emma never hated the Mayor more than she did right then. Regina had orchestrated this entire show, like an actress starring in a play.

"I'm sure you just happened to suggest it to them, didn't you? You put Mary Margaret in a bad light and commanded them to shun her."

Regina crossed to where Emma stood, her bitter face so close that Emma could have clawed her cruel eyes out.

"Despite what your _friend_, that _snake, _may tell you, _I _am the one with the power here, Miss Swan. Do you honestly think anyone in this town would defy me and take _her _side?" Silence gave Regina her answer, though Emma was glaring daggers at the woman.

"That's what I thought. Ms. Blanchard should be receiving a phone call this morning reminding her as much. As for you, Miss Swan...I'd think you'd have the sense to walk out of here before you do something you'll regret."

Regina awaited Emma's response, leaning against her desk. Emma shoved a finger in Regina's face.

"You won't tear her down like this. Things will change...somehow," Emma vowed, spinning on her heel and marching out the door. Regina's final words followed her, a warning at best.

"We shall see."

...

The streaks of sunlight awoke Mary Margaret out of her uneasy sleep. The clock swam into focus-nearly nine in the morning. On a Tuesday!

Mary Margaret bolted up in bed, anxiety pouring through her. She slept in! There was so much planned for today's class and the children would be waiting; Ms. Ginger would have to cover for her though she was always rude about it, and it would be a horrible start-

Wait.

The memory of yesterday's events crashed into her mind, along with the upset. Mary Margaret had lost her teaching job. _How could I forget? _

Clanging came from the kitchen, followed by the creaky noise of cupboards opening. Was Emma actually cooking her breakfast?

Mary Margaret threw a soft white robe on over the clothes she had worn the previous day and hurried into the kitchen, rubbing sleep from her tired eyes as she did so.

"Honestly, Emma, there's really no need-" Mary Margaret halted on the threshold of the kitchen, surprised out of her wits.

Emma was nowhere to be seen, but David was standing there, clear as day, in the middle of the kitchen. Turning, his blue eyes caught hers and he smiled gently.

"David," she breathed, wrapping the robe closer around her body. Perhaps he would make the hurt disappear, if only for a little while. "What are you doing here so early?"

"Mary Margaret," he spoke her name with equal amounts of wonder, as if he never tired of hearing it. "Emma let me in here before she left. I wanted to see you."

David sounded so sincere, so charming, that Mary Margaret abruptly ran into his arms, savoring his wonderful scent. "I was waiting for you to wake up."

"And you didn't even think to kiss me?" Mary Margaret teased him, a faint memory tugging at her mind. What were those dreams and supposed memories about?

Poking her head up to meet his, Mary Margaret eyed him wistfully, genuinely smiling for the first time in hours.

"Where is Emma?" Mary Margaret suspected her roommate simply headed off for work, until she noticed the dark hesitation in David's eyes. There was something else going on.

"Um, there's something I need to tell you," David hinted, carefully prying Mary Margaret off him. Her smile dimmed and her hopes shattered-his tone did not make this subject sound pleasing. _Something's wrong...what now? _

"David, what is it? I don't think...I can't take any more hurt," she warned him, crossing her arms over her chest protectively. Alarms screeched through her mind as David raked a hand across his face.

"I understand that. I heard about what the Mayor did to you. I'm sorry," he said, lightly placing his hands on her arms. Mary Margaret frowned.

"David, what's going on?" Each word was emphasized-she needed to know the reason for his presence here. The real reason. David sighed deeply, dropping his gaze.

"It's about Kathryn," he finally stated, stabbing an arrow through her heart. This was what he needed to talk about. Kathryn. Her hopes were glass, crunching under his feet time and again.

"You've changed your mind. You're going back to her...again," Mary Margaret deduced, body shaking as her worst fears came true. This was what she had been afraid of; losing him a second time. "You're going with her to Boston-"

David immediately gripped her arms and held her close to him. One of his hands reached up to caress her cheek.

"No, it's not that. Kathryn...she's missing," he explained, gazing down at her. Mary Margaret froze. She struggled for words, but none came. "She's been missing since late last night and no one knows where she is."

_Kathryn...is missing. _

The words echoed through her skull, pounding into her brain like nails. This would only make the troubles increase for her, for _them. _The accusing stares of yesterday would never hold a candle to the ones she'd receive today.

"It's because of us, isn't it? Kathryn's gone...It's all my fault," Mary Margaret whispered, knees buckling. David caught her and settled her on a chair, stroking her hair.

"Mary Margaret, this has nothing to do with us. This is _not_ your fault," he insisted, but it was a hopeless argument. The guilt was there, gnawing at her.

If she hadn't gotten involved with David, if they hadn't wanted to be together so badly, would Kathryn be safe in her home, making breakfast for her husband?

"How can you say it has nothing to do with us? David, we caused this," she shot back, head spinning.

David opened the fridge and handed her a bottle of chilled water. Mary Margaret gratefully guzzled it down. "Is this the right choice for us?"

David rested his hands on the kitchen table, hanging his head. A shiver skated through Mary Margaret's nerves. The plastic water bottle was tightly clenched between her hands, crackling and bending.

"Of course it's the right choice," David replied softly, eyes darting everywhere but her face. "But..." There was that darned word. The word that meant he was having other thoughts.

Mary Margaret breathed in, but the breath refused to come back out. It stuck in her throat and burned her lungs.

"But what? What are you thinking, David? And don't say 'nothing.'" Mary Maragret leveled her gaze at him, seeking answers he was unwilling to give.

What was he keeping from her? Why was it so difficult for him to be honest with her?

"Mary Margaret-" David stopped to stride over to her, hands firmly landing on her shoulders. "I do want to be with you. More than anything. But Kathryn is out there, missing. I feel...I feel that I am responsible for this. I need to be out there, searching for her instead of..." His words trailed off, lips thinning into an uncertain line.

"Instead of staying here with me? Instead of defending your choice?" Mary Margaret's voice was slightly sharp, but she could not help it.

This man had been her reason for getting involved with someone who never belonged to her. He'd been the one she dreamed about, the one she longed for. He had been the one in her mind, who kept her sane and strong through all the harsh comments and glares.

Losing him like this was the final straw.

This was the man who was breaking her heart before eleven in the morning.

David's eyes were apologetic and concerned for her, but Mary Margaret could hardly bear to look at them.

"I feel...I feel it's the honorable thing to do," David blurted out and it seemed by the sudden blanching of his face that he'd regretted it. Mary Margaret's hands clenched into fists. _It's happening to me...all over again. _

"The honorable thing to do?" Just like that horrible night, Mary Margaret spat out the words, heartache plaguing her. _The honorable thing to do? No, the honorable thing to do was not to lead me on. _

"Mary Margaret, I'm sorry about this. You have no idea. After I find Kathryn and make sure she's safe, the two of us...we can-"

"Get out," Mary Margaret hissed before her mind translated the words to her lips. Or so she thought.

David's hands released her and he stepped back as if she'd slapped him. Which she would have, if she'd been bolder.

"Mary Margaret-"

"Get out! David, please...leave," she begged him, inclining her head into her hand. David watched her for a full minute, deflating visibly. Shuffling to the door, David quietly opened it and glanced back once at her.

"I'm sorry," he whispered before disappearing out the door. Mary Margaret sank her head fully into her hands, but her well of tears was empty. She had wasted them all yesterday.

Sliding off the chair, Mary Margaret took her water bottle and did something she had not done since she'd begun teaching. She went back to bed and for the next few hours, she remained dead to the world.

Right then, she wished there _was_ a such thing as a magic cure that could whisk all her pain away.

...

**Isn't David so frustrating sometimes? ****Poor Mary Margaret-it just keeps getting worse for her. Just for the record, I missed the scene in the 13th ep where MM says she doesn't want to be with David (I only caught half of it), so consider the last scene an add-on to that one, sort of. **

**Sorry for lack of Gold/Rumpel in this chapter (except for the dream); he'll be back in the next one. **

**Wow, holy reviews! My inbox practically exploded! (-; Aww, thanks everyone! **

**Shout-out time! Thank you to Sarah1281, BlooperLover, DCdreamer55, Code Shadow, m, and Pink Wolf Princess. **

**About the extent of Regina's power, I tried to gather inspiration from many of your reviews and offer an explanation. However, I think Regina, being the one entirely in control (for the most part) of Storybrooke has influenced her power in many ways before this. She always finds ways to destroy her enemies, doesn't she? **

**Thank you again for reading! (=**


	4. Chapter 4

**Disclaimer: I do not own **_**Once Upon A Time. **_**ABC does. **

**A/N: Thank you everyone who favorited and alerted this story recently (and there were a lot!). **

**Good news: this chapter has a lot more MM/Gold. So read and enjoy! (-; **

**By the way: I'm trying to get a sense of how much i should write since the next ep isn't for two weeks. I will mention Kathryn's disappearance, but I'll make it slightly vague so that there's still room for the progression of the show. Just a heads up. **

**Chapter Four**

_**Here I go again**_

_**I see the crystal visions**_

_**I keep my visions to myself**_

**_It's only me who wants to _**

**_Wrap around your dreams and_**

**_Have you any dreams you'd like to sell?*_**

A full day had passed and news of Kathryn's whereabouts were all but nonexistent. The investigation was flying in a million directions, and a search party had scoured the woods multiple times, led by Emma Swan herself.

Kathryn seemed to have vanished without a trace, her car left overturned by the side of the road on the way to Boston.

Meanwhile, Mary Margaret pored over Storybrooke's local newspaper, The Mirror, and struggled to secure a job. It at least helped to distract her from the troubling matters of Kathryn and David.

Any job would do, but the Mayor had everyone spooked.

Even Ruby outright refused, complaining that she had enough to deal with when it came to paying rent for Mr. Gold. Besides, Mary Margaret was sure her presence at the diner would mean a decrease in customers and Ruby and Granny could not afford that.

Whenever she asked someone if they were hiring, the person would give an abrupt shake of the head, avoid her gaze, and walk away. _Cowards, _she sometimes felt like shouting at them, but she really could not blame them. The Mayor was most intimidating at her worst, not a good enemy to have.

"Flowers came for you," Emma announced, a bouquet of roses tucked into her arm as she kicked the door closed. Mary Margaret knew who they were from and sadness struck her heart.

"That's okay. You can actually throw them in the trash this time," she responded. Emma frowned, but obliged by dumping them in the trash. David was apparently still a sore spot for Mary Margaret.

"How's the job hunting going?" Emma tossed her keys on the table with a metallic clinking sound.

Mary Margaret almost failed to register her question; she was peering so hard at the job openings, knowing that they were not meant for her. Perhaps the newspaper should have included a warning: _Mary Margaret need not apply. _

"It's...going," she replied, sipping warm green tea out of a mug, the steam tickling her skin as it rose into the air. Mary Margaret shrugged, pink lips dipping into a frown as she snapped the paper closed. The tea wasn't helping at all-she resigned to pushing it away. "Any news yet?"

"Nope," Emma answered instantly. "Not a single trace." Mary Margaret was disappointed to hear it-she certainly didn't want Kathryn missing or dead.

The guilt was killing her-barely any decent sleep, Kathryn was missing, and they were being forced to rely on Emma's pay for now.

Emma's expression was full of concern as she positioned her body on the chair that Mary Margaret had occupied that morning, when David-

_Stop. Don't think about it, _Mary Margaret shoved the memory into the back of her mind. Finger tracing the edge of the newspaper, she gave an audible sigh.

"Mary Margaret, if you want I can always give you a job at the station. I've recently been in need of a good assistant," Emma told her, but Mary Margaret was already shaking her head 'no.'

"Thank you, Emma, but I don't want to be responsible for Regina taking out her anger on you, too. You know she'll act out against you. You don't deserve that," she said, gripping Emma's hand. "Besides, this is something I need to do myself. I need to be strong and stand on my own two feet."

Emma nodded and stood. Crossing to the fridge, she found a fresh bottle of wine. Opening the cupboard, she retrieved two glasses. It was only mid-afternoon, but the idea of a drink was so tempting.

"You in the mood for a drink?" Emma waved the bottle in her hand, as if she'd read Mary Margaret's mind.

"After everything that's happened? Yes," Mary Margaret agreed, accepting the glass with a weak smile. Emma took a deep swallow of hers and generously refilled her glass to the brim. Mary Margaret swallowed some of her own-much better.

"That's...good, anyway. You're taking this really well," Emma commented. Mary Margaret tightly squeezed the stem of her wine glass and wondered about the best way to inform Emma of her plan. Maybe she should just blurt it out...

"Right, well I'm not going to let the Mayor get me down," Mary Margaret declared, raising her chin defiantly. Emma's lips lifted in a smile, a very supportive one. _Just tell her. Maybe she'll agree. _Right.

"Mary Margaret, that's wonderful. You're strong enough to get past this," Emma assured her, lifting the glass of wine to her mouth again. Okay. Now or never.

"Exactly," Mary Margaret absently put in, brushing her short dark hair off her forehead. "That's why...I'm going to ask Mr. Gold for a job."

A stream of wine spewed out of Emma's mouth and Mary Margaret had to leap out of the way before any of the mess caught her. Emma wiped off her mouth, eyes boggling.

"I'm sorry. Could you repeat those words?" Mary Margaret wasn't sure she wanted to, really. She shrugged sheepishly. Emma gaped at her. "What?"

"Forget I mentioned it," Mary Margaret shook it off, turning her back and grazing the handle of her abandoned cup of tea. Maybe she should have stuck with that instead.

Emma stomped across the room to the other side of the table and locked eyes with Mary Margaret. The supportive smile was nowhere to be found.

"You're actually considering going to _him? _This...this is not a good idea," Emma argued, hands on her hips and frame towering over Mary Margaret's fragile one.

"Emma, think about it. He's the only person who isn't afraid to defy Regina. I doubt there's much her power could do to him," Mary Margaret reasoned with her. Emma buried her head in her hands and frantically rubbed her temples.

"Yes, but he's also the most feared man in Storybrooke. Mary Margaret, he just got released from jail for beating a man to a pulp, remember?" Emma's teeth gritted beneath her set mouth.

"Of course I remember...but sometimes appearances can be deceiving," Mary Margaret insisted. What other option did she have? To her, it sounded like the most reasonable one.

Emma studied her with something close to disbelief.

"Right, and sometimes what you see is what you get. He's dangerous, Mary Margaret. I don't like this option," Emma stated, trying to change Mary Margaret's mind. It wasn't working.

Mary Margaret's lips pinched and Emma seemed to read her mind once more.

"I don't like it...but you're willing to do it, anyway," Emma deduced, hands dropping to her sides. Mary Margaret's green eyes offered a look of regret.

"With your support, it'll make me feel loads better," Mary Margaret hinted, leaning closer to Emma. There was an awkward silence and then the air whistled out of Emma's mouth.

"Don't expect me to like the idea," Emma said, gulping down her wine with sudden thirst. Mary Margaret smiled and took hold of Emma's hand again.

"I'm not asking you to like it. I'm simply asking you to trust me," she replied, staring at Emma considerately. Emma glared at her, but managed a light smile. "You do trust me, don't you?"

Emma's shoulders sagged a little as she gazed at Mary Margaret, a frown creasing her lips.

"Of course I trust you. I trust _you_, but I do not trust _him_. Not as far as I can throw him and that's not very far at all," Emma replied anxiously, but had otherwise calmed down.

Mary Margaret took that as a good sign and threw on her coat, bundling up for the cold weather outside. Emma paused and her brow furrowed.

"Wait...you're going right now?" Emma set the glass of wine on the table and watched Mary Margaret wrap a scarf around her neck.

"Yes I am," Mary Margaret stated boldly. "Before I change _my _mind." Emma smirked at her and Mary Margaret rushed out into the town, hoping that she would not come back empty-handed.

...

Mary Margaret did not start to consider second thoughts until the sign for Mr. Gold's shop appeared in the distance. Her feet slowed and then stopped altogether.

What if it was a bad idea? What if he never even gave her a thought for a position? Maybe Emma was right...

_No, _her mind snapped back like a retaliating rubber band. _I need to do this. I need to be strong. This is my responsibility. _

Sighing deeply, heart pulsing violently in her throat, Mary Margaret traveled the remaining steps until the entrance door was only a few feet away. She laid a hand on the door...and wrenched it back, mind doubtful yet again.

_What have I got to lose? _

Mary Margaret clenched and unclenched her fists before whipping open the door, the small bell on top chiming and signaling her presence. _No turning back now, _she thought as she peered around the shop.

Truth be told, there'd only been one other time she visited the shop and that was a while ago. It hadn't changed much-if anything it was even more cluttered with a variety of objects.

Wonder overtook her like a child in a toy store as her fingers delicately traced over the objects. The air inside was cool, sending a light shiver down her spine.

So many trinkets, her eyes darted around trying to take it in all at once. She was automatically drawn to a glass unicorn mobile, the unicorns reflecting the thin sunlight in a rainbow of colors.

A smile gently touched her face as she turned to study a shelf filled with endless items-paintings, books, jewelry, nearly everything Mary Margaret could imagine.

Tucked into the corner of the shelf was a folded golden garment that caught Mary Margaret's eye. Reaching for it, she lifted it off the shelf and the garment unraveled to reveal a marvelous golden dress, delicate jewels lining the sleeves and hem.

It was gorgeous and Mary Margaret experimentally held it up to herself, imagining wearing it-

"Ah, Ms. Blanchard," the rich voice swept over her, startling her. Mary Margaret whirled to see Mr. Gold standing behind one of the display cases, watching her with a smile playing on his lips. "What can I do for you?"

Those words struck a note somewhere inside Mary Margaret's mind. Why did that sound strangely familiar? Had he spoken those words to her recently? Mary Margaret didn't think so. _What can I do for you? _

In her head, the words were spoken with much more glee and amusement.

Shaking the thought away, Mary Margaret hastily replaced the gown on the shelf and approached the display case, the question stalling on her tongue.

"How are you faring, dearie?" Mr. Gold broke the silence for her, brown eyes scrutinizing her. Mary Margaret paused a few inches from the display case, green eyes wide, if not still a tiny bit bloodshot.

"Oh, I'm..." Her voice trailed off. _Fine, _she'd been about to say. A lie she sensed he would catch instantly. Mr. Gold waited patiently for her words, head tilting the slightest bit. "I'm managing. It's been taking a toll on me, especially with Kathryn's disappearance."

"Yes, I've heard of Mrs. Nolan's unfortunate incident. Pity," he replied, though Mary Margaret did not think he sounded quite so sympathetic. Lips tense and quivering, Mary Margaret uncomfortably drew her coat closer around her thin frame.

"But that's not why I'm here," she stated, forcing herself to match his unwavering gaze. Mr. Gold's smile widened, his palms coming to rest casually on the display case.

"I thought not." The silence wrapped around them. He was awaiting her question-did he know it was coming? With a deep intake of breath, Mary Margaret stumbled for the right words.

"I was just wondering..." Mary Margaret's voice came out softer than she'd intended, nearly dying before she'd even begun her question. A steady blush tinted her face.

"Yes, dearie?" Mr. Gold seemed to be taking pleasure in her hesitation-the way he stared at her was expectant, enticing. The weight of his gaze pressured her.

_Ask him, you coward, _Mary Margaret scolded herself. Emma's warning floated through her mind again. _He's dangerous...feared in Storybrooke...beat a man to a pulp..._

Mary Margaret's eyes inevitably traveled to Mr. Gold's hands atop the disaply case and in her mind she pictured those hands driving his cane into the man's helpless body, madness in his eyes. It was a frightening thought because it was not impossible to imagine.

_Ask him. _

"I was wondering if you needed extra help around the shop," she rushed the words out before she could back down.

There, the question was out. Mary Margaret kept her gaze glued to the carpeted floor as she listened for his response.

Silence.

Mary Margaret dared to sneak a peek at Mr. Gold's expression-it was unreadable, his smirk firmly set in place. For a brief instant, she prepared herself for the rejection.

"The Mayor's power is capable of convincing many, don't you agree?" Mary Margaret found it to be no surprise that Mr. Gold knew about the Mayor's threat towards her-everyone knew by now.

She offered no response; she simply anticipated whether he would dismiss her or not.

Watching her like a vulture, Mr. Gold circled the display case, his cane suddenly in his hands. Mary Margaret remained still, unsure of what to do or say.

"Fortunately, I am not one of those cowards who easily bend to her will," Mr. Gold continued, leaning into his cane and peering down at her.

Breath catching in her throat, Mary Margaret could only hope to translate that meaning correctly. It rose within her, a warm wondrous feeling that begged for release, the smile growing rapidly on her lips.

"You're...hiring me?" Mary Margaret sounded as if it were difficult to believe. Mr. Gold nodded once.

"I'm sure we can come to a reasonable agreement in terms of service. I'll expect you here no later than seven tomorrow morning," he informed her, tha air of business wafting around him.

Mary Margaret was speechless-all she could do was move her head in a sort of nodding fashion. She was _hired_; everything would be _okay_.

In her excitement, Mary Margaret abruptly swooped forward and wrapped her arms around Mr. Gold, hugging him tightly. The rich scent of him enveloped her. Beneath her skin, Mary Margaret felt his body tense, discomforted just like when she'd touched his hand.

A light touch fell onto her back, but that was all the pawnbroker could manage.

All of a sudden, Mary Margaret came to her senses and slipped away from his grasp. What had she been thinking? A minute ago she'd been uncomfortable and nervous-the content of securing a job had caused her to forget Emma's warning.

"Oh, I'm so sorry," she quickly apologized, hands clenching together nervously.

Mr. Gold brushed his impeccable suit with a careful hand, but did not seem too upset by the gesture.

Instead, there was a dazed look in his normally critical eyes-it was as if her act of hugging him had truly taken him by surprise. Moreover, there was a spark of pleasure in the depths of those eyes, as if he had enjoyed it to a point.

"That's...quite alright, Ms. Blanchard," Mr. Gold spoke softly, apparently still processing what had just happened. "Tomorrow, then."

A powerful grin was threatening to slide onto her face.

"Thank you," she whispered, practically floating in the clouds in regards to her success as she made her way back home.

...

He watched as Mary Margaret left his shop, the sun beyond the threshold kissing her skin and showering her in light. Closing his eyes, he savored her lingering touch, the memory of her arms encircling him burned into his mind.

It was the most contact he'd had with her since entering this new land. Oh, how he'd waited for it, anticipated it, longed for it-and still it fascinated him to no end.

The way her green eyes sparkled with excitement and childish glee. The way her gentle lips, akin to two red, delicate petals-ones he knew felt just as velvety soft-lifted into a beautiful smile.

He liked to imagine she had been smiling solely for _him_, not necessarily the fact that he'd been her saving grace. Was such a thing even possible?

The only thing that kept him from doing more than resting a hand against her back was the notion that he'd be able to have another chance, to watch his Snow as much as it pleased him instead of from a distance. His beauty. His treasure. His.

She had been so close, he could have easily snaked his hand forward and caressed her rosy skin. But there was still time for that. Time had never been a stranger to him, not while he endured his curse.

Swiftly crossing to the shelf that contained the golden dress, _her _dress, he smoothed a hand across it. The last time he'd felt this way had been with _her_. His Belle.

Refolding the dress upon the shelf, his memory was split between those moments with Snow and the painful ones of Belle. The latter had given him a chance...and he'd chosen wrongly. This time must be different. She belonged to him.

Memory entrancing him, hands clenching the golden dress desperately, images of a young girl danced before his eyes.

Images of a girl with rich, flowing brown hair and jewel-like emerald eyes not unlike those of Mary Margaret.

...

***"Dreams" by Fleetwood Mac. **

**How did you all enjoy it? ****I'm thinking of including some more Fairy Tale world, if only for some filler moments. Don't worry-I'm working on it. (= **

**That wonderful, shiny review button sure does look tempting, doesn't it? **

**Until next time, everyone! **


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N: ****Hey there, everyone! Here's a new chapter for you to enjoy (while I am impatiently waiting for the next ep). Stupid Oscars. **

**Well, enjoy the chapter anyway! **

**Chapter Five **

_**The sweetest song is silence that I've ever heard**_

_**Funny how your feet in dreams never touch the earth**_

_**In a wood full of princes, freedom is a kiss**_

_**But the prince hides his face from dreams in the mist**_

_**These dreams go on when I close my eyes**_

_**Every second of the night, I live another life...***_

Mary Margaret arrived home to the unexpected sound of sizzling meat in the kitchen. Emma was standing by the stove, black frying pan in hand. The appetizing scent of spices wafted through the air, beckoning Mary Margaret forward. Her stomach readily growled, begging for delicious food.

"You're cooking dinner?" Mary Margaret hung her coat up on a hook and watched Emma in wonder. The blonde glanced over her shoulder, a half-smile on her lips.

"Well, you weren't here, remember? And I just happened to get hungry," she replied, shrugging. Sliding onto a chair, Mary Margaret smiled-it was the first time Emma cooked since moving in. Usually, that was _her_ specialty.

"It's good to know your special skills include cooking. Are you any good?" Mary Margaret had to laugh as Emma rolled her eyes, leaning over the table and pointing a spatula at Mary Margaret.

"You know, I might not be good at a lot of things...but I am perfectly capable of managing my basic needs," she said, Margaret reached for a glass and the bottle of wine Emma left on the table. Emma noted it and frowned.

"You're burning," Mary Margaret warned, gesturing to the frying pan.

Emma spun, cursing as she scraped the food along with the spatula. After it was under control, with Mary Margaret trying hard to suppress a giggle, Emma turned back to her. She sighed and blew a loose strand of blond hair away.

"So...I take it the job was a no-go?" Emma watched as Mary Margaret took a gulp of wine. "As I said, I can give you a job at the station," she reminded her roommate, obviously worried for her well-being.

"I got the job," Mary Margaret revealed softly, but Emma was still rambling forward.

"All you have to do is ask-wait...what?" The words had finally caught up with her and her head shot up, eyes wide with surprise. Mary Margaret simply smiled and shrugged.

"I. Got. The. Job," she repeated slowly, a steady blush warming her face. Emma was nearly speechless, mouth hanging open and gaping. Her eyebrows rose in wonder.

"Yeah, I'm still processing. That's..." She paused, searching for the right word. "Okay, if I said that was 'good', I would be lying." Not that Mary Margaret would be able to tell the difference.

Mary Margaret leveled her gaze meaningfully, green eyes hopeful. She wondered what Emma would say if she told her she actually hugged Mr. Gold. Out of excitement, of course.

"It might not be that bad. I'm starting tomorrow at seven." Emma nodded thoughtfully, though she still seemed ready to protest. Thankfully, she decided to focus more on the frying pan of food.

"Just do me a favor and don't make any deals with him. We don't need both of us owing him a favor." Mary Margaret roughly swallowed her wine and it burned the back of her throat. Eyes watering, she coughed. _Too late, _she thought sheepishly.

"Yes...wouldn't want that to happen," she stated as calmly as she could, nonchalantly sipping her drink. Emma's head swiveled in her direction, eyes narrowing with suspicion.

Mary Margaret knew then that she'd been caught.

Emma forgot about the food and rested her elbows on the table to peer closely at Mary Margaret. The room was tense as she waited for Emma to expose her.

"Mary Margaret...did he say you owed him a favor for hiring you?" It was a stroke of luck-this one Mary Margaret could answer strongly.

"No, he did not," she replied instantly. It was the truth and she hoped Emma would drop the line of questioning. Emma scrutinized her, face growing more serene by the minute.

"You're telling the truth," she declared, straightening slightly. Mary Margaret nodded and prayed that Emma would not ask-

"Do you him a favor?" Her insides curled in on themselves. That was the question she'd feared. Mary Margaret hesitated, gently biting her lip.

"No..." Emma pointed an accusing finger at her. That was what she got for trying to lie to her. Nothing ever passed over her head.

"Liar," Emma called her out, circling the table to confront her. Mary Margaret dipped her head a little. "You owe him a _favor? _What for?" Mary Margaret avoided Emma's straightforward gaze.

"I...I was feeling bad and I asked for his...advice," she explained carefully. Emma's face blanched and she buried her head in her hands.

"Oh, God, Mary Margaret. Of all the people to ask for advice," she groaned, shaking her head. Mary Margaret shrugged weakly, knowing Emma hated this situation. "You were feeling bad? He could be taking advantage of you!"

"Everything will be fine. Trust me," Mary Margaret pleaded Emma, gripping her hands reassuringly. Emma stared at her as if she were mental. Then, she sighed and rushed over to the stove before the food completely burned.

"In any case, dinner is served," Emma said, handing Mary Margaret a plate of slightly overcooked food. The two of them ate in silence, preferring to forget about that soft topic for now.

Mary Margaret was determined to be optimistic about it, even if Emma was obviously against it. What was the worst that could happen?

...

_She was in a tunnel. A cold, damp tunnel under the earth. It was dark, with only the flickering flames of the torches lining the rocky walls and guiding the way. A shiver passed over her skin and she drew her robe closer to her. _

_She was that girl again. The one with the long, raven-black hair. Only this time she was pregnant and almost to term, her abdomen extending before her. _

_This dream was surreal-never had she been pregnant or had children, despite the attachment she somehow felt towards this unborn child. Its name floated along her tongue, but it refused to slip out. _

_On the heels of that thought, the baby kicked inside her, as if telling her that this was real. But it couldn't be real. It was just a dream. _

_Further ahead, the path widened. There was an extensive cell, with jagged bars trapping its prisoner. A feeling of deja vu swept over her-why did this place seem so familiar? _

_A shadowy figure loomed behind the bars, the stance as familiar as her environment. Her mind clicked. It was the man from her other dream; the one on the dock. His golden eyes followed her every move, though the rest of his face was lost in the darkness. _

_Her feet carried her forward, almost to the bars. Her heart hammered inside her chest though she fought to maintain her courage. _

_There was something off about this man, something dangerous. At the same time, it was alluring, enticing her like a moth to a flame. _

_A high-pitched laugh escaped his lips as his scaly fingers gripped the bars. One of his hands reached down to stroke her pregnant stomach, her unborn child kicking against the palm of his hand. _

_Brow furrowed, she was curious; she wanted to know who this man was. If she could just see his face..._

_Carefully, she lifted a hand towards his face, her fingers tingling with the anticipation of touching his skin. Those golden, mystical eyes locked onto hers, burned into hers as her fingers gently grazed his skin. _

_There was a sudden flash of light and the dream melted away, the man's gleeful laugh ringing in her ears. _

_..._

All was quiet in the apartment. You could probably hear a pin drop.

Emma stretched widely, making her way to the kitchen, stomach growling. She passed by Mary Margaret's room, the door left open, with Mary Margaret dozing peacefully beneath the white covers, and-

Wait.

Emma halted, fingers raking midway through her messy blonde hair. Her eyes looked to the clock on the wall. It was 6:53 in the morning. Almost seven.

Frowning, Emma entered her roommate's bedroom and nudged her shoulder to arouse her. Mary Margaret groaned, her head stuffed into the pillow and covers hiding the most of her face.

"Um...Mary Margaret?" Another groan; Emma took that as a decent response. "Aren't you intending to...I don't know..._get up?" _

There was a moaning of the mattress and one of Mary Margaret's hands clumsily found the clock on her bedside table. She stifled a deep yawn.

"Why? It's only...seven," she mumbled sleepily, turning on her side. Emma allowed that to sink in for a moment. Waiting for it...

Abruptly, Mary Margaret's eyes shot open wide and her body bolted upright in bed.

"Oh, my God! It's seven!" Flying out of bed, Mary Margaret scrambled for any clothes she could get her hands on while Emma gazed at her in amazement. Mary Margaret dressed, dragged a brush through her unruly hair, and slid on her shoes all at the same time.

As she dashed for the bathroom, Emma casually retrieved a bottle of water from the kitchen. Yawning, she sat at the table and slid the newspaper closer to her.

Mary Margaret came rushing out with a toothbrush in her mouth, a scarf in her hand, and the forgotten hairbrush in the other.

It amazed Emma how fast the woman could pull herself together when running late.

"Oh, God, oh, God...I've gotta go! I'm going to be late and it's my first day and I don't even have time to stop at the diner...oh, God, it's 6:57!" Mary Margaret talked faster than Emma could hear, frantic enough to have a heartattack.

"I told you this job was a bad idea," Emma teased her roommate lightly, untwisting the cap of her bottled water to take a sip. Mary Margaret was too busy to slow and glance at her.

"You're not helping, Emma," she answered in a stressed, sing-song voice. Mary Margaret dropped the toothbrush, spit properly into the sink, and gasped when she checked her watch again.

Sighing, Emma leaned over the table and tossed Mary Margaret her keys. The woman stared at them as if she were holding a raw, squirming fish.

"You're lending me your car?" Emma nodded and grabbed an apple from the bowl of fruit in the middle of the table.

"Yep. Bet you can still make it in two minutes if you drive fast," she told her, pointing to the door.

"I will hold you to that bet," Mary Margaret said, clenching the keys for dear life. As a last minute thought, she hurried around the table to give Emma a grateful hug, to which Emma tensed visibly. "Thank you so much."

Emma watched with concern as her roommate ran out the door, practically a moving blur. For Mary Margaret's sake, she hoped the woman would not be late on her first day.

...

***"These Dreams" by Heart-I only used an excerpt though I think most of the lyrics could fit very well with MM's dream. **

**Sorry for lack of Gold...again. /= I promise the next chapter will mostly be about those two! (-; And I just happened to rewatch Skin Deep (again), which motivated me even more to write a chapter. **

**So, will Mary Margaret be late..or not? It won't be long until the next chapter-so hang in there! **

**Meanwhile, there is that beautiful button that says "Review". Press it! You know you want to. **

**(= **


	6. Chapter 6

**A/N:**** Hey, there! So this chapter has lots and lots of Gold. So, I'm hoping you guys will enjoy reading it. By the way, I want to thank those again who have alerted and favorited recently. (= **

**Belle is mentioned briefly in this chapter as well. **

**Enjoy! **

**Chapter Six**

_**Goodbye my almost lover**_

_**Goodbye my hopeless dream**_

_**I'm trying not to think about you**_

_**Can't you just let me be**_

_**So long my luckless romance**_

_**My back is turned on you**_

_**Should've known you'd bring me heartache**_

_**Almost lovers always do...***_

It was a minute before seven when Mary Margaret stepped into the shop, the bell above chiming just as the black hand on the town clock struck on the hour. Mary Margaret breathed a sigh of relief and made a mental note to set her alarm next time.

Mr. Gold was already there behind the counter and he glanced up to greet her.

"Right on time, Ms. Blanchard," he nodded once as a sign of approval. Mary Margaret smiled nervously-being around the pawnbroker would take some getting used to. Assuming she didn't get fired from being late one of these mornings.

"You did say seven. I thought it'd be best not to be fashionably late," she hastily said, nerves jumping like live wires. Mr. Gold's lips curled in a smile. His dark eyes drank her in, never wandering, only choosing to gaze at her.

"Indeed," he replied smoothly. With his cane in hand, he made his way around the counter and stopped short before her. "Now, I expect you to dust off the merchandise," he began to explain her duties, all the while circling her carefully. Occasionally, he gestured to her with a finger. "You are to clean the display cases and keep this shop in presentable condition. And..."

_And you will skin the children I collect from my deals, _he thought about telling her, much like he had done with Belle in his castle. That quip had earned him a chipped cup. He could not help but wonder how Mary Margaret would react. The mental image of her face draining of color almost made him giggle with amusement.

"Yes...sir?" Mary Margaret encouraged him-he'd been lost in his thoughts. Belle always had a way of doing that to him.

"_And_, Ms. Blanchard," he spoke her name to remind himself that this was _not _Belle. Far from it, actually. "You may handle any customers that pass through." Mary Margaret seemed satisfied with this, green eyes brimming with determination to please him. Beautiful.

"Yes, sir," she repeated softly, lowering her gaze like an obedient servant about to curtsy. Mr. Gold placed two fingers beneath her chin and gently guided her face upwards, her wide eyes returning to his face. There, much better.

"Please, dearie. No use for extreme formalities. You may refer to me as...Mr. Gold," he told her, his true name almost rolling off his tongue. That would not have bode well at all.

Mary Margaret smiled thinly as he removed his hand, the softness of her skin lingering on his fingertips.

"Mr. Gold," she obliged. Gripping his cane, he nodded once and reluctantly stepped into the back room of the shop, leaving his new employee to her duties.

...

Cleeaning had never been a difficult task for Mary Margaret. She prided herself with the knowledge that she could turn the biggest of messes into the tidiest of spots in no time at all.

She quickly embraced the challenge after first locating some cleaning supplies in the back room. Mr. Gold never glanced up as she did so, but she could tell by the small smile on his lips that her presence did not escape his notice. She expected nothing much ever did.

Within the silence of the shop, Mary Margaret hummed as she wiped the display cases clean of dust and fingerprints. By the time she was satisfied, they practically sparkled as if made of diamond.

Carefully, she dusted around the objects in the shop before tackling the objects themselves. Once or twice she choked back a cough as dust particles flew into the air-most of the objects must have been gathering dust for years.

As she dusted, she found herself getting distracted by the wide range of objects around her. There were times when she'd pause to admire a certain trinket, turning it experimentally in her hands.

The shop contained many small wonders and beautiful items; the glass mobile with its exquisitely crafted unicorns was simply the tip of the iceberg. It was too bad that few people entered the shop, but then most people were also afraid of its owner. Herself included, if she were to be honest.

Within two hours of straight, hard work, Mary Margaret had the shop in tip-top shape. The merchandise was dusted, the display cases clean, the shelves more or less organized, the floor swept nicely.

Observing with her hands on her hips, she smiled proudly-the shop looked good. Great, even. _Piece of cake, _she thought calmly, leaning her elbows on the counter.

The bell above the door signaled a customer and Mary Margaret twirled on her heel, welcoming smile in place.

"How may I help-" Her words evaporated as she met the stone cold eyes of the Mayor. Regina's lips were pulled in a pout and she did not look happy. Mary Margaret's insides melted to ash.

"You can help, Ms. Blanchard, by fetching your generous employer for me," she snapped, an icy glare issuing from her eyes.

She knew what Regina wanted to speak to Mr. Gold about: _her. _Regina gripped the edge of the display case, her fingerprints destroying the work Mary Margaret had strived to achieve. Regina's lips curled in a sneer.

"Did I stutter, Ms. Blanchard? I meant _now_." Mary Margaret glanced at the black curtain shielding the back room. Hesitantly, she wondered if Mr. Gold wished to ignore Regina-surely he heard the bell?

"I'm sorry, I don't think-" Just then, the black curtain was swept aside and Mr. Gold ambled out of the back room. Instantly, his eyes locked onto Regina. Though his expression remained calm, Mary Margaret could see a flash of annoyance in the depths of his eyes.

"Oh, Madame Mayor. Always a pleasure to receive a visit from you," Mr. Gold stated. Mary Margaret sensed the sarcasm there, even if the Mayor failed to detect it. Regina offered him a smile that lacked emotion.

"I have something I wish to discuss with you," the Mayor informed him, crossing her arms in front of her torso. One of Mr. Gold's eyebrows rose in amusement.

"Again? Here I thought we understood each other quite well," he replied without skipping a beat.

Mary Margaret watched the scene unfold and had the feeling something bigger was taking place. Some intricate piece had been laid out on the table between the two, a piece she was conveniently missing.

"It seems we don't understand each other quite as well as I'd imagined. I'd prefer to discuss these matters with you _alone,_" she hinted, deliberately gesturing to the still, silent Mary Margaret.

Mr. Gold's brown eyes flickered to her for a brief second, the wheels in his mind considering the options. It was tense inside the shop as he purposely made the Mayor wait and then-

"Ms. Blanchard, I'm prepared to offer you a short break from your duties. Say...fifteen minutes?" Despite speaking to her, he seemed to be running it by the Mayor. Regina did not protest.

Mary Margaret nodded and grabbed her jacket, suddenly feeling that her presence was most unwanted. Regina could not resist smirking at her.

"Ms. Blanchard, why not make that twenty minutes? Catch up on the town gossip," she mocked her, knowing full well that Mary Margaret was still the hottest topic of news along with Kathryn's disappearance.

Blushing, Mary Margaret hurried out the door. Part of her was curious and wanted to try to get an idea of the discussion taking place. Regina's voice followed her through the door.

"So you hired the tramp, I see." Mary Margaret's heart clenched tightly. Mr. Gold was one of the only ones who had acted somewhat decent to her-she did not want to stick around to hear his response.

The other part of her, the stronger part, contained an empty stomach that pulled her in the direction of Granny's diner.

...

"So you hired the tramp, I see," Regina commented harshly even before Mary Margaret had turned the corner out of sight. He watched her with mild distaste, his jaw set with annoyance at Regina's rudeness.

"I expected you to be a bit above petty names, Regina. I'm sure the townsfolk have their fair share of them for _you, _" he pointed out sharply, a couple of those names circling his mind. Regina frowned.

"What game are you playing this time, Rumpel?" Regina did not shy away from his true name as her hard gaze traveled around his shop. Thanks to Mary Margaret, it was noticeably tidy. Regina slid her finger along one of the shelves and grimaced, though there was not a speck of dust to be found there.

"Games are as much your specialty as they are mine...Your Majesty," he retorted, her title hissing from his lips. Regina narrowed her eyes dangerously at him. The implication of distrust was there, clear as day.

"You went behind my back..to hire _her?_ How generous of you," she spat, smoothing her hands over her flawless business attire. The game of chess was in full swing-their confrontations were often a struggle to see who would win. She would not win this time. "I specifically said-"

He tilted his head inquiringly at her.

"You'd do well to remember that _I _am the one in control here. Your power cannot touch me, dearie," he reminded her, brown eyes cold. "And under my power, you cannot touch her, either."

Regina was reaching to flick one of the glass unicorns attached to the mobile and she paused. Realization dawned on her face.

"Oh, I see. You're working under the delusion that you can replace the girl you lost. What was her name again?" Regina was mocking him, ripping open old wounds. Without the use of his cane, he circled the display case, his mind throwing forward images of _her. _

_Her_, holding the chipped cup. _It's chipped...you can hardly see it...it's just a cup..._

_Her, _falling into his arms. _Her, _leaning forward to place a kiss on his lips. _Admit it, you're happy I'm back...something changed my mind..._

_Her, _walking away from him that last time, her words ringing in his ears. _If you would just believe that someone would want you...regret it...all you'll have is an empty heart and a chipped cup..._

It built inside him, coupled with the anger he felt towards the Queen for destroying it. Regina snapped her fingers and shook him from his reverie.

"Oh, right. I remember now. Her...name...was...Be-"

In a matter of seconds, he darted across the room and wrapped his hand around Regina's throat. Dragging her body backwards, he firmly pinned her against one of the display cases. Gritting his teeth menacingly, he leaned over her until their faces were only inches apart, her nails digging and scratching desperately at his hand.

"You will not speak her name in front of me," he growled, shoving her head back against the display case. " Do I _stutter_, Your Majesty?" Regina's eyes grew wide, revealing the fear coursing through her body. At least the woman had some inkling of sense.

He squeezed her throat just a little tighter-a final warning-and then released her. Regina coughed deeply, gasping for air. Her hand flew to her throat, rubbing it.

"Don't...don't you _dare_ touch me like that again. You bastard," she angrily sputtered, starting for the door. He watched her open the door, grateful that she intended to leave. "Fire her or-"

"Or you'll what?" He challenged her, a searing stare burning into her back. Regina turned to glare at him.

"Or I will make her suffer far worse than she has been. I'll see to it that you lose her as well," Regina threatened before striding out of his shop. He preferred to brush off her words as empty threats, for he would not allow that mistake to happen again.

Mary Margaret was his for the taking. And he always protected what belonged to him.

...

***Just so you know, the lyrics at the beginning come from "Almost Lover" by A Fine Frenzy. Just in case anyone was curious. (-; **

**So, what'd you think? **


	7. Chapter 7

**A/N: Hello, all! Wow, my inbox was nearly full the last time I checked it, what with all the alerts and favorites for this story! Thanks, guys! **

**I am impatiently waiting for the next episode and I am sure some of you are as well. So here is another chapter to tide you over (hopefully). **

**Enjoy!**

**Chapter Seven **

Mary Margaret picked up a small sandwich and coffee from the diner and made it back to the shop in less than fifteen minutes.

Between Mr. Gold and the Mayor, she decided to heed his request of alotted time. Out of kindness, she had also made sure to order a coffee for him, much to Ruby's chagrin.

The Mayor was still inside the shop when she reached it and a few bits of their conversation flowed outside as Regina opened the door.

"Fire her or-" The Mayor was demanding Mr. Gold, obviously referring to her. The Mayor seemed determined to make her miserable.

"Or you'll what?" Mr. Gold fired back, though he did not sound very concerned about Regina's threat.

Mary Margaret pressed her body against the wall along the side of the shop, keeping out of view. The cups of coffee were burning the palms of her hand, but she was too busy straining her ears to notice.

"Or I'll make her suffer far worse than she has been. I'll see to it that you lose her as well," Regina declared. Mary Margaret's brow furrowed with confusion. Was Regina talking about the girl Mr. Gold lost? The way she spoke about it implied-

Quick, clipped steps approached Mary Margaret and she tried to make it seem as if she were nonchalantly sipping her coffee.

Regina strode into view and she whipped her head around to shoot Mary Margaret a piercing glare. She eyed her with disgust, her nose scrunching visibly.

"For your sake, my dear, I hope you don't owe him any favors. I can only imagine what someone like him would...desire...from the town harlot." Regina smirked and strode away, leaving Mary Margaret to gawk after her. Her head was spinning with everything she heard.

Shaking her head numbly, she re-entered the shop to find Mr. Gold standing near the shelf with the golden dress, fingers roaming it longingly. His brown eyes, normally so attentive, were glazed and unreadable. That was when it hit her-that dress was _her_ dress.

Awkwardly, Mary Margaret cleared her throat to signal her presence. Mr. Gold glanced up at her and it took a moment for recognition to pass through his eyes.

"I thought you might like a coffee," she said, offering him his cup. Her own coffee and sandwich were trapped in her other hand. Mr. Gold accepted it, though he did not bring the coffee to his lips. "Um, I wasn't sure how you took it, so..."

Mary Margaret reached into her coat pocket and held out a couple packets of sugar.

"Just one sugar will do," he said as he lightly reached out for it, his fingers grazing her skin in the process. One sugar-not too sweet, but not too bitter, either. Mary Margaret could not help but think it suited him.

The two drank their coffee in unnerving silence. Mr. Gold drifted away to reclaim his cane. Mary Margaret kept thinking about the Mayor's words, her curiosity always getting the better of her.

"What did the Mayor want?" Her green eyes gazed at the pawnbroker. His demeanor became stiff-he did not like her intruding.

"Business, dearie. Nothing more," he replied with finality. He started for the back room, her chance slimming and about to fly out the window.

"I...overheard what the Mayor said before she left the shop." Mr. Gold halted in his steps, suited back facing her. Even so, she could tell his muscles had gone rigid with tension. Mary Margaret's words rushed from her mouth. "That girl...did the Mayor have something to do with her death?"

Mary Margaret's shallow breathing was the only sound in the shop. She wished she could take back the words, but it was too late.

"No," he answered, slender fingers gripped his cane, the knuckles turning white as snow. "She had _everything _to do with it."

Mr. Gold vanished behind the black curtain just as Mary Margaret was rendered speechless. All she could do was stare after the pawnbroker with pity, her cup of coffee forgotten and quickly turning cold.

...

Mary Margaret did not mention the girl for the rest of the day and she blushed every time Mr. Gold appeared from the back room. Often though, he remained in the back room and she had no clue of his business there.

Very few customers entered the shop and soon Mary Margaret resigned to amusing herself with the trinkets in the shop. Part of her thought about talking to Mr. Gold again-maybe she could help him-but the logical part of her mind told her that he would not be willing to discuss it.

At five o'clock, Mr. Gold locked up the shop for the day. It was chilly, forcing Mary Margaret to wrap her jacket firmly around her. At least she still had Emma's car. Mary Margaret started walking toward it, craving heat, when-

"Ms. Blanchard," Mr. Gold's soft spoken voice held her back. Her insides plummeted. This was it, wasn't it? He was intending to fire her, just as the Mayor asked. His past words floated on the edge of her mind. _The Mayor's power is capable of convincing many, don't you agree? _

Slowly, she turned back to him, waiting for those two horrible words. They never came.

"I expect I'll be seeing you tomorrow, then." Disbelief shot through her, followed closely by relief and gratitude. He wasn't firing her. Her joy rose but this time she restrained herself from jumping him.

"Thank you," she whispered, the smile dominating her lips. Mr. Gold's brown eyes bored into her. She imagined they could glimpse her soul if he willed it.

"You didn't hug me this time. That seems a bit of a step backward for you, dearie." A thin smile quirked the edges of his mouth.

"Do you want me to hug you?" Mary Margaret mustered up enough daring to say the words and then mentally kicked herself for it. What was that about? Was she actually..._flirting_ with him? What would Emma say about that?

A dangerous, hungry gleam flashed through his eyes. Swiftly, Mr. Gold closed in on her until their bodies were only inches apart. Mary Margaret found she could not look away from his gaze.

"This will do," he breathed, his accent wrapping around her. Lighty, he lifted her hand to his lips and kissed it. A tendril of pleasure curled through Mary Margaret's stomach and her heart raced inside her chest. "Goodnight, Ms. Blanchard."

Mary Margaret was faintly aware of mumbling a 'goodnight' in return. Mr. Gold walked away while Mary Margaret was dazed and glued in her spot. The Mayor's sharp words drifted through her head. _I can only imagine what someone like him would desire from the town harlot. _

In the back of her mind, she wondered what exactly she had gotten herself into this time.


	8. Chapter 8

**A/N: Hey, everyone! Here's another chapter for you to enjoy. This one has a little bit of FairyTale world. ****(-; **

**Enjoy! **

**Chapter Eight**

_Hi, Mary Margaret...it's David. They're still out searching for Kathryn...nothing new has turned up. I'm sorry for the other day. Guess I'll talk to you soon. Beep. _

There were three new messages on the answering machine when she returned-all of them from David. Mostly, his messages informed her there was no news about Kathryn, information she could have easily extracted from Emma.

She suspected David simply wanted an excuse to talk to her, but she wasn't ready yet. Every time she thought about him, that horrible scene swarmed her mind and it began to hurt again.

Deleting his messages, Mary Margaret laid Emma's keys on the table. There was a post-it note stuck to the fridge-Emma was bringing hom Chinese food. Mary Margaret's stomach growled. All she had eaten was that sandwich.

Her mind was foggy with troubling thoughts. As she settled on her bed with a book, she kept thinking about the Mayor's threat and the mystery of that girl. Mostly, she replayed the moment where Mr. Gold had lightly kissed her hand.

Resting the book on her chest, she rubbed a finger thoughtfully across the back of her hand. She could almost feel his lips on her skin once more.

_He kissed me, _she thought, a chill steadily running down her neck and back. A voice of logic in her mind argued against her. Strangely, it sounded a lot like Emma.

_No, he kissed your hand. There's a difference. _Was there? Thinking back, she recalled seeing a dark hunger in his eyes, as if he had wanted to do more than kiss her hand. _Or maybe you're just imagining it. You're heartbroken and reaching out for comfort. _

_What does it mean? _Mary Margaret struggled to understand it. Maybe the events of the day were simply wearing her thin. Anxiously, she spun the gold ring on her finger.

_It doesn't mean anything, _the voice insisted. _Forget it. The last thing you want to do is get involved with someone like him. _

The Emma voice was right. It was a simple, commonplace gesture. It meant absolutely nothing. Mary Margaret returned to skimming the pages of her book, only to pause once more.

If it meant absolutely nothing, then why was Mary Margaret finding it so impossible to erase it from her mind?

...

Snow was crying.

The tears were few, creeping softly from beneath her feathery eyelashes. On the threshold of the balcony, her green eyes gazed out across the expanse of forest. The Enchanted Forest was so mysterious at night, blanketed by shadows.

In the back of her mind, Snow knew the Queen was out there, somewhere, plotting her revenge. _Everything you love...everything all of you love will be taken from you. _The daunting threat was forever burned into her memory.

A rustle of clothing arose from close behind her and then soft hands caressed her bare arms. The corners of her delicate lips lifted, but the smile did not reach her eyes.

"Snow, something has upset you. Tell me," her Prince Charming breathed into her ear, gentle fingers guiding her face to meet his. Snow wiped the fallen tears from her cheeks.

"I'm fine, Charming. Always coming to my aid," she whispered, trying to smile for him. Those shining blue eyes matched her gaze and broke through the evasion. He had grown to love her like no other and he knew her so well.

"Tell me," he repeated insistently. "Snow...whatever it is, I only wish to help," he told her, his hand smoothing across her ebony hair. "Is it something to do with..._her?"_ Snow shook her head.

"No, it has nothing to do with the Queen. I've been thinking..." Her vocie trailed away, carried off with the wind. Once more, she eyed the horizon, the sea of green stretching below her.

Charming waited patiently, knowing Snow had to release the words herself, like birds from a cage.

"Ever since the wedding, our attempts for a child have been fruitless," she finally said, a hand placed longingly on her flat and empty abdomen. Charming wrapped his arms around his wife, his lips hovering above hers.

"Snow, if it is meant to happen, then it shall," he assured her, wanting nothing more than to ease her worries. Sadness shifted in Snow's eyes.

"James...don't you see? Our time may be running out," she replied, breaking from his grasp to gesture to the wide forest, their world. "I'm not ready to leave all this. I most certainly do not want to lose you. I want us to be happy..."

A single tear slid along her face as her Charming swept her up for a long kiss. Snow gazed deeply into his eyes.

"I want a daughter for my own. A child for us to love and introduce to this magical place. But the Queen..." Snow's fears were beating inside her skull. _But the Queen will not allow it to be so. The Queen will take everything we love...including our child. But, oh, if we could have one..._

Charming nestled his face in her soft hair and kissed her cheek.

"Snow, I promise you. The Queen's threat will never come true. As long as I have you, I am happy. Our child will come when it is meant for us." Snow nodded and said no more. Charming kissed her a last time before departing her to sort out her thoughts.

Their child would come when it was meant to be...but she could practically sense time slipping from her fingers. There had to be a way to ensure their happiness.

A string of lost words swirled through her head, spoken a long time ago. _There are whispers of a man who can do as you ask...a man who can perform even the most unholy of requests. _

The name slipped into her mind and she longed to voice it aloud, to speak to the one who could grant her a piece of happiness. For a price.

The fearsome name reached her tongue and it rolled effortlessly, emitting a veil of power over the wide forest.

"Rumpelstiltskin."

...

The second day of Mary Margaret's job was a quiet one. Not once did she mention Regina, the girl, or Mr. Gold's questionable behavior of laying a kiss on her hand. In the morning, she simply offered him a timid "hello" before he vanished behind the curtain.

It was like magic. A fine sheet of dust had settled once more on the objects in the shop. It was as if it had snowed gray, fuzzy particles overnight. Still, she whistled while she worked to restore the shop to perfect condition.

There was only one detail-well, two really-that Mary Margaret did not take a liking to in the shop. These two details came in the form of two wooden puppets, their carved faces contorted in frozen fear. Everytime she glanced at them, a cold, unsettled sensation creeped along her skin.

There was something dark, something..._wrong_ about those puppets. Perhaps it was her imagination, but no matter where she was standing in the shop, the puppets' eyes would be watching her, as though following her every step.

At one point, Mary Margaret dared to reach out to the puppets, just to prove they were simply that-puppets.

"Something the matter?" Mr. Gold's velvety voice fell upon her ear, making her jump in the air. A trembling hand fleetingly pressed to her chest. "Forgive me for scaring you, Ms. Blanchard. You seem a little nervous today." A smirk was dancing on his lips.

"Oh, it was...it was nothing. I'm fine," she insisted, face growing flushed with heat. Mr. Gold scrutinized her closely, drinking in the sight of her embarrassment.

"Most people who say they are fine...often are the very opposite inside." It was one of those quips that made Mary Margaret wonder what sort of thoughts existed behind his hard brown eyes. "It's almost four-thirty. I'm allowing you to leave early."

Mary Margaret glanced up at him, surprised by this luxury. It was then she was aware of how close in proximity he was standing beside her, his head bent over hers.

"Thank you," she whispered, collecting her jacket and heading for the door in a hurry. A hand was curling around the knob when she paused. There had been something she'd meant to ask him.

"The Miner's Day Festival is tomorrow," she said, her voice steadier than the thudding of her heart, which was currently lodged in her throat. Mr. Gold half-turned toward her, brown hair cascading along his face.

"Indeed it is, dearie." His voice was smooth and betrayed nothing. The hand that rested on his cane was calm. The depths of his eyes sparked as they burned into her, as if expecting something else of her.

"I was wondering if you were planning to be there." It was spoken in the same hesitant tone as if she'd just asked him on a date. One of Mr. Gold's eyebrows rose in interest and his teeth flashed beneath his lips.

"Perhaps I'll stop by, though the festival would be dull if it lacked your presence, Ms. Blanchard." Mary Margaret's eyes widened and her cheeks grew rosy. It was a lovely sight to behold, Mr. Gold could not help but muse.

'Yes, I might help out with the festival. Volunteer, I mean. And there'll be plenty of activities going on...and the Miner's Day dance, of course..." She was ranting. Mary Margaret cringed slightly at her nervousness. Mr. Gold simply hung on her every syllable. "Umm...I guess I will see you tomorrow, then."

Mary Margaret had the door open, the cold wind blowing across her fair skin, before he answered her.

"Oh, dearie?" Mary Margaret glanced over her shoulder. A dark gleam had entered Mr. Gold's brown eyes, rooting her to the spot despite the cold. "Save me a dance."

...

**I hope you all liked it! I will try to align this story with the show, but I nearly have the next chapter written up already. So the wait will not be long. **

**By the way, how did you all like the episode last night? **


	9. Chapter 9

**Disclaimer: I do not own **_**Once **_**or anything related to it. ABC owns it. **

**A/N: Hello, everybody! Here's a new chapter to tide you all over until Sunday. (-;**

**Chapter Nine**

Mary Margaret was thankful to have the day off for the Miner's Day Festival, especially since it meant she could sleep in a little and catch up on some much needed rest. The dreams came and went, but always they remained the same. A mysterious man in the shadows, just out of reach.

"One hot chocolate with extra cream and plenty of cinnamon on top," Ruby recited as she set the steaming cup in front of Mary Margaret, red lips stretched into a smile.

"Thank you, Ruby," she replied, burning her tongue as she took a quick sip of the chocolatey mixture. Ruby leaned on the bar and tossed her silky black hair over her shoulder.

"So, how's the promiscuous life treating you?" Ruby's eyebrows arched and a suggestive glimmer shone in her wide eyes. Mary Margaret shrugged and pictured the chipped red paint on the windows of her car, the word "tramp" still legible.

"Everyone seems content to ignore me now," she answered softly. Being invisible was much better than hearing bitter insults deliberately whispered behind your back. Ruby offered her a look of sympathy.

"Well, at least you're looking better than she is," Ruby pointed in the direction of one of the nuns sitting in a corner booth.

Mary Margaret recognized her immediately-it was Astrid, the red-headed nun most notorious for her clumsiness and mistakes. At the moment, she was talking to Leroy and appearing quite depressed.

"What's wrong? Is she okay?" Mary Margaret knew Ruby was the town gossip.

Ruby checked over her shoulder before dipping her head close to Mary Margaret, the juicy secrets practically foaming on her mouth.

"Word is she ran the nuns out of all their money. Totally blew it. And they owe rent to Mr. Gold this week," she whispered, spitting out Mr. Gold's name as if it had a foul taste.

Mary Margaret observed Astrid with pity; the girl was clearly beating herself up badly. Not unlike Mary Margaret herself when the town turned on her.

"When is the money due?" Maybe there was still hope for Astrid to fix her mistake. Ruby eyed her with a solemn expression, lips thinning slightly.

"Today." Mary Margaret felt a stone drop into her stomach.

"Today?" She repeated with disbelief, voice rising shrilly. _Oh, the poor girl, _she thought sadly. _Today of all days. _Ruby nodded enthusiastically, red-streaked hair flying about.

"Yep. Today. And we all know what happens when Mr. Gold doesn't get his money." Ruby theatrically dragged a nail across her throat. Mr. Gold never accepted late payment. Suddenly, Ruby chippered up. "Speaking of Storybrooke's virtual Godfather, how's your new job?"

"It's...not that bad," Mary Margaret insisted, as she had with Emma.

Ruby shot her a no-nonsense look that suggested she didn't believe her. Mockingly, Ruby pressed a hand to Mary Margaret's forehead, insinuating she must be ill.

"I'm serious, Red. I don't think this is the worst job in the world." Mary Margaret swept the strands of her black hair back in place while Ruby stared at her like she was senile.

"You'd be the first." Ruby strode off, digging a notepad from her tight red uniform. There was a groan of the polyester stool beside her and Mary Margaret turned to see Leroy leering at her.

"Hey, sister," he acknowledged her in a gruff voice. "You still volunteering for the fesitval?" Ruby placed an alcoholic drink in front of Leroy-his usual. Only Leroy drank before eleven in the morning.

"Yes, I am," she responded flatly. Mary Margaret had signed on to sell candles at the festival and now she knew the nuns needed all the help they could get. Leroy swallowed his drink in one go, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.

"So am I," he announced, taking her by surprise. She was nearly struck speechless by his sudden act of charity.

"Leroy...you're going to sell candles? I mean, that's great news, but..." Leroy spun on his stool, glaring meanly at her.

"What? You don't think a guy like me can pull this off? Think again." If Mary Margaret didn't know any better, she'd have said that Leroy was grumpier than usual.

"Wonderful. That's good to hear," she praised him, patting him lightly on the arm. Leroy narrowed his glazed eyes at her hand and she awkwardly withdrew it.

Emptying her mug, she started for the exit. The diner's loud, gossip-ridden atmosphere was getting to her.

"Sister." Leroy called her back, a new determination in his smarmy face. "You work for the gimp, am I right?" Mary Maragret blushed when she realized he meant Mr. Gold. It was such a rude thing to say, even if Mr. Gold wasn't entirely popular around town.

"Yes, I've recently started working for Mr. Gold," she pronounced his name with emphasis to prove a point, but Leroy simply rolled his eyes.

"What say you try to reason with him? Get him to lay off the nuns?" Mary Margaret knew in her heart that nothing she said to Mr. Gold would change his mind. Leroy knew it, too, but perhaps it wouldn't hurt to try.

"Leroy, I don't think it will matter," she advised him, but he threw his head back and scoffed.

"Come on, they're nuns! Who doesn't like nuns?" Mary Margaret shrugged. _He certainly seems to like me, _she thought positively, but then again she wasn't a nun.

"I'll try my best. Maybe something good will come out of it," she agreed, much to Leroy's satisfaction.

Mary Margaret wasn't foolish enough to promise him anything, for she was sure this was one promise that would be impossible to keep.

...

The bell chimed in her ears like a silvery, musical note. Even on her day off, she was here, standing in the pawn shop with all its untold mysteries not excluding its owner.

Mr. Gold was standing near the register and he glanced up as she approached him. If he was surprised to see her there, he didn't give any notice of it.

"Ah, Ms. Blanchard. To what do I owe the pleasure of your company on your day off?" Mr. Gold abruptly shoved the till of the register closed, the sharp metallic sound making Mary Margaret jump slightly. She hoped he hadn't noticed. There was an amused gleam in his dark eyes-he'd noticed.

"I heard the nuns' rent payment is due today," she started, gazing down at her shoes. It felt much like the day she asked him for a job; she was the small, spooked mouse and he was the looming, cunning snake.

"That it is. I appreciate your reminder." Mary Margaret understood that he was mocking her. He hadn't forgotten that one business matter. Not at all.

"They've run into some financial problems recently. I was hoping you could-"

"You were hoping I'd extend their deadline for payment," he deduced, voice cold and hard as ice. Mary Margaret never expected him to be accommodating. She had just...hoped. Hope, in Storybrooke, was a fragile thread that was easily severed. "I could do that, Ms. Blanchard."

Mary Margaret's heart shifted and maybe even missed a beat altogether. _See? See what a little hope can do? _

"Great. The nuns will be so happy to hear-"

"But I won't," his soft-spoken voice silenced her own, bringing her feet to a halt halfway to the door. That was when she realized her mistake. Her green eyes revealed her disappointment like a mirror.

"I'm sorry...I thought you'd said..." Mr. Gold held up a hand to stop her, commanding her attention.

"You misunderstood me, I'm afraid. Of course I could be lenient and accept their late payment...but I refuse to do just that."

"But...why?" Mary Margaret protested, lip trembling.

How could this man be so unforgiving to a helpless group of nuns? How could he be so cold, so unmoving as to force their imminent departure from Storybrooke?

Mr. Gold's collected, stony gaze did not falter.

"Do you still think I am not a monster, Ms. Blanchard?" Mary Margaret did not answer; her silence spoke volumes. "It's quite simple, really. My agreements are always honored."

Something there struck a chord inside her. That last line had been enforced greatly.

Then it hit her.

That phrase was meant for her benefit, as a type of warning. _A favor will do, I think. _

Her favor. What would he require of her? What would he do if she refused to oblige by the rules of her favor? The full impact of it crushed her heart. _What have I done? _

Mary Margaret nodded bleakly, a feeling of falling wrapping around her. Somehow, her feet carried her to the door, her mind spinning with anxiety. Mr. Gold's words clung to her like a cloak she was unable to shed.

_My agreements are always honored. Do you still think I'm not a monster? _

Mary Margaret had always been determined to find the humanity in everyone. The beast always turned out to be a wonderful prince in the fairy tales.

But what if the beast...was really just a beast?

...

**What did you think of that? A nice little scene will be coming up in the next chapter for these two-I actually already have it written up. **

**Right now, I want to thank my reviewers! Here's to DCdreamer55, Back of a Truck, The Narnian Phantom Stallion, and night animal. Your reviews were awesome! (-;**

**Until next time, guys! **


	10. Chapter 10

**A/N: I think you guys will like this chapter, at least a little concerning MM/Gold. It uses the song "I'll Be" by Edwin McCain. Enjoy! **

**Chapter Ten**

It was a cool night, but no one seemed to mind. The stars sparkled in the black sky above, the only other light coming from the countless cream-colored candles, the flames illuminating the faces of Storybrooke's citizens.

Mary Margaret's emerald eyes gazed up at the stars in wonder. Thanks to Leroy's insane idea of blowing out the town's power, the candles had sold out. The nuns could pay their rent and were safe from Mr. Gold's clutches.

Everything had turned out better than she imagined it would...so why did it feel as if something were missing?

The flame of Mary Margaret's candle flickered unsteadily. A thin, whispering breeze arose and snuffed out the flame. Mary Margaret stared down at it forlornly, like a child who just broken its new toy.

From her peripheral vision, someone else's lit candle appeared and revived her own. The flames mingled and danced together before settling in their respective confinements.

Mr. Gold was standing beside her, watching her. Leaning heavily on his cane, his body shifted closer to hers.

"You came," she breathed, their tense conversation all but forgotten. A smile lifted the corners of his lips.

"I did request you save me a dance, did I not?" Mary Margaret recalled it in her mind. Her eyes involuntarily traveled to his injured leg.

"I didn't know you could still dance, since your leg," she hinted, motioning to the cane.

Mr. Gold set the candle and his cane on a nearby abandoned booth as a soft tune flowed around the square. Many bodies were already moving harmoniously together in the center of the crowd.

"You'd be surprised what I am capable of...Mary Margaret," he replied, his velvety accent flowing richly over her name.

Extending a hand to her, he tilted his head inquiringly and waited. Mary Margaret smiled and gently took it, allowing him to lead her on the fringes of the crowd.

Her ears picked up the opening notes of the song. It resonated with her mind-this was a song she knew well.

_The strands in your eyes that color them wonderful...stop me and steal my breath..._

"Dearie, we're going to have to get a little bit closer," he murmured, placing a firm hand on her back and urging her closer to his wiry frame. Mary Margaret inevitably wrapped her arms around his neck and the two gently swayed together.

_Emeralds for mountains, thrust toward the sky...never revealing their depths..._

Mary Margaret soon relaxed in Mr. Gold's embrace, her heart thumping a little less severely. His brown eyes never left her face, as though her presence were the only one that mattered.

_Tell me that we belong together..._

Mary Margaret gazed sincerely into his eyes and had the odd sensation of floating on air. It was surreal, dancing with Mr. Gold. Despite his leg, he moved smoothly and carefully with her.

_I'll be captivated...I'll hang from your lips instead of the gallows of heartache that hang from above..._

Maybe it was the heady sensation of dancing, but she noticed Mr. Gold's head dip a little closer to hers. One of his hands had settled beneath her chin and were keeping her eyes leveled with his.

She suddenly imagined his lips lightly brushing hers. The dark, cloudy gleam in his eyes warned her that he was fantasizing about similar matters.

"Mr. Gold..." Her voice was faint, but she knew he'd heard. This man never missed anything around him.

"Yes?" He drew out that one word and it caressed her skin softly. Mary Margaret hesitantly dropped her eyes. His elegant, slender fingers guided her face back to his face. "Eyes on me, dearie."

A chill traveled through her jaw, stemming from the spot where his fingers brushed her chin.

"Why did you agree to hire me?" It was an unexpected question, but one she realized had been nagging at her mind. Mr. Gold paused only a second before carefully twirling her body out and just as quickly drawing her back into his arms.

"Should I not have?" His breath was close to her ear, his subtle scent wafting around her.

"No, no, I mean...I'm grateful that you did. But, I've been dealing...with a broken heart," she stated, wincing visibly as she did. "And you...and I..."

She hated letting him down like this. What if her instincts were wrong? What if he wasn't particularly interested in her, just being considerate?

Mr. Gold was quiet a long moment and for once his eyes were avoiding her. They seemed distant, trapped in a memory.

"I'm sorry if my enjoyment of your company offended you, Ms. Blanchard." The words were indifferent, cold, and sharp enough to pierce her skin and shed her innocent blood.

Face flushed with shame, Mary Margaret's mouth dropped open. She was no longer Mary Margaret to him-she had harshly reverted to the ever-formal 'Ms. Blanchard.'

"I didn't mean-"

"Excuse me," a familiar voice intruded on them and Mary Margaret's heart fluttered with recognition. It was David, his crystal blue eyes drinking in Mary Margaret. "Mind if I cut in?"

Mary Margaret glanced back at Mr. Gold, whose expression was stony and dark. It seemed Mr. Gold _did _mind. Then, he shrugged and released Mary Margaret.

"Ms. Blanchard. Mr. Nolan," he nodded to each of them before departing into the crowd. Mary Margaret's heart ached for him; what had she done?

David pushed the notion out of her mind as he gently guided her into his arms. Their bodies fit together almost perfectly.

"I've been meaning to talk to you. I wanted to apologize," he said, half-smiling sheepishly. Mary Margaret could not help but smile in return.

"You always manage to find me, don't you?" Mary Margaret studied David longingly. David pulled her closer, as if he could not resist her.

"I'll always find you," he promised, seconds before his lips softly found hers and the rest of the crowd melted away.

_I'll be your crying shoulder...I'll be the greatest fan of your life..._

...

He lingered on the fringes of the crowd as the music faded to a few simple notes. His beauty was in the arms of another and, as he watched, her lips were claimed by ones not his own. A deep, burning fire thrashed inside him.

It ached miserably, wanting something that danced beyond his reach. And he had been quite sure that she was his. She belonged to him, after all. What a fool he had been. Again.

Gripping his cane, he blew out the flame on his forgotten candle and started the walk home, unnoticed by the crowd.

There had been a golden light, a spectacular warmth in Mary Margaret's emerald eyes as she looked upon David. It stung him critically to realize that the golden light had been missing from those depths while she basked in his own embrace.

Mary Margaret would never look at him that way. For, as many would point out, he was a beast and undeserving of a beauty such as the likes of her.

...

**Awww, poor Mr. Gold. Don't worry, though...things will get better soon. (-; **

**Thank you, everyone, for taking the time to read my story. What did you guys think of Red's episode, by the way? I for one did not see that twist coming. Good stuff, huh? **

**All reviews are greatly appreciated-all the more to inspire my writing! **


	11. Chapter 11

**A/N: Okay, guys. This chapter is a long one, but the good news is that there's some FT world in it! Which means more of our favorite imp. (-; Or at least, **_**my**_** favorite imp. **

**I hope everyone enjoys the chapter! **

**Chapter Eleven**

"Rumpelstiltskin." Snow's voice, forever filled with strength and confidence, dared to utter the name of the most powerful being in the Enchanted Forest. Emerald eyes alight with curiosity, she waited.

It was silent. There was no howling of the wind, no rustle of the trees below, no snapping of twigs underfoot. Even the crickets ceased chirping. _Perhaps he's not coming,_ she thought, turning to the doors of the balcony and-just beyond-their bedroom.

Gasping lightly, her body froze like stone.

There, perched on the edge of the bed, was Rumpelstiltskin. The shadows of the bedroom concealed his figure; the most she could see were the eerie glow of his wide, murky eyes and the gleam of his jagged teeth.

"You called, dearie?" His lilting words were rich with glee as he crouched on the bed. His hands shifted in a wild gesture. Snow locked eyes with the mystical being, his powerful aura radiating throughout the room. "What can I do for the fair Snow White?"

His tongue rolled over her name, his sharp nails pointing toward her.

"My husband and I...are unable to bear a child," she carefully explained, dark hair cascading along her jaw. Smoothly, Rumpelstiltskin lunged from the bed, practically dancing around her; such were the languid steps he took.

"Ah, so _Charming_ is not quite the perfect prince, is he?" A shrill giggle escaped his lips, sending a rapid chill down Snow's back. "I myself never had that problem." A finger slid sensually along Snow's arm, jolting sensations traveling through her body.

"Please..." She whispered, eyes pleading with him. "All we want is a daughter." Rumpelstiltskin glided to a stop in front of her, a finger pointing at her face. His breath warmed her skin.

"You mean _you_ want a daughter. Tell me, dearie...does your heroic husband know you're meeting me?" Snow's sudden rosy blush and the heaviness of her silence gave him his answer. "I'm flattered. I suppose I could find a suitable child for you. For a price."

"No." The stern rejection halted Rumpelstiltskin in his tracks. A dangerous glint burned in his eyes. Crossing to her, his gold fingers grasped her chin and forced her to look at him.

"Excuse me? Would you care to repeat that word?" Snow gazed back at him, despite the throbbing pulse beating beneath his fingers.

"That's not what I want. I don't want someone else's child. I want my own child. Can you do that?"

Rumpelstiltskin lowered his hands to her flat abdomen and bent forward as though examining it. Snow took a step backward and Rumpelstiltskin grinned maliciously.

"Of _course_ I can. This should do," he replied, revealing a vial of white liquid from inside his leather cloak. Snow eyed it uncertainly-the last time she drank a potion, she'd forgotten Prince Charming. "Drink this and you should have yourself a child in no time."

Rumpelstiltskin waved the vial back and forth in front of her eyes, tempting her.

"What's your price?" He tilted his head at her and smiled devilishly, the wavy strands of his hair framing his dark face.

"My price? Comfort," he declared, lowering his face close to hers. Snow felt a sinking sensation in the pit of her stomach.

"You know I'm married," she reminded him firmly. Rumpelstiltskin spun on his heel, scoffing with amusement.

"Please, I'm not asking for..._love_," he pronounced the word mockingly. Clucking his tongue at her, his eyes drank her in. "What I require is your good company."

Snow considered, just as the dealmaker thrust himself in a new, revealing light. A sting of pity clung to her heart-the man was lonely. He was reaching out for comfort in the only way he understood how.

"Do we have a deal?" Rumpelstiltskin's gleeful voice broke through her newfound realization. Snow nodded once, a trembling hand brushing over her stomach.

"Deal," she agreed with finality. Rumpelstiltskin strode toward her and deposited the vial into her hands. He held up a long finger inches from her face.

"Meet me tomorrow night by the river," he instructed her as he moved past her. "Oh...and good luck with your lovely child."

Snow clutched the vial dearly to her chest. When she whirled to thank Rumpelstiltskin, he was already gone.

….

"I kissed David last night," Mary Margaret blurted out to Emma as the sheriff bit down into a crunchy piece of toast. Emma did not seem impressed by this revelation—she simply kept chewing as she sat at the kitchen table.

"And I escorted David to the station last night. Go figure," she replied, wiping the butter from her lips with a napkin. Mary Margaret kneaded her fingers. The turmoil of David was eating her up, ready to devour her. "You two always find a way back to each other. He obviously wants to be with you if he's not worrying so much about Kathryn."

"Are you saying I should take a chance and be with him?" Mary Margaret laid her head in her hands, frustrated beyond belief. Her mind was racing, troubled as it was.

"I'm saying…it's complicated. The two of you have a lot to sort out," she advised, chucking the rest of the toast in her mouth. Mary Margaret's mind wandered and where it took her was even more dangerous.

"And I…I danced last night," she murmured. Emma arched her eyebrows. The most excitement she had last night was settling the blackout problem caused by a tipsy Leroy. A tipsy Leroy wielding a pick-axe.

"That's good. The two of you seem to be making wonderful progress." Emma stood and shrugged on a navy blue leather jacket.

Mary Margaret tensed, that one crucial detail threatening to slip out. What would Emma do if she knew Mr. Gold had potentially tried to kiss her? _Emma would…storm down to the shop and berate him for it. She would try to protect me. _

"I danced last night…with Mr. Gold." Emma froze while clipping her badge to her hip. Her brow furrowed and her eyes grew dark. The silence was mocking. Mary Margaret could not even breathe for fear of shattering it.

"Why?" There was so much distaste in that one syllable. Mary Margaret hung her head, avoiding the sheriff's gaze.

"He asked me…and I said yes." Emma frowned and scrutinized her roommate like she would a suspect in a case. It only made Mary Margaret more uneasy.

New realization dawned on Emma's face.

"Oh, Mary…please don't tell me you're thinking about him the same way you think about David," she groaned. Mary Margaret blushed—she hadn't thought about Mr. Gold _that way. _At least, not that much. The music from last night drifted through her mind. _Strands in your eyes that color them wonderful…_

"I just think…he might be lonely. He's reaching out and seeking comfort, that's all. Maybe I can help him," she mused, mostly to herself instead of Emma.

She pictured Mr. Gold clutching the golden dress in his shop. Whoever that girl was, she had left him scarred and broken. _Completely alone…nobody deserves that. _

Emma strode towards her, determination flashing through her green eyes. She waited until Mary Margaret glanced up at her before speaking.

"Mary, it's your job to clean his shop. But it is not your job to pick up the pieces of his mess for him." Emma stared meaningfully at her and then grabbed her keys.

It was almost 6:45, which meant both had to attend to their duties for the day. Emma to the sheriff's station and Kathryn's mysterious disappearance; Mary Margaret to the pawnshop where she could only hope to forget her troubles with the leering eye of Mr. Gold watching her.

Mary Margaret sighed and grabbed her bag, only to be stopped by Emma's hand on her wrist.

"Just don't ever forget the kind of person he is," Emma told her. Mary Margaret heard the insinuation in Emma's tone and she wasn't entirely sure she agreed with it. Still, the question fell from her lips.

"And what kind of person is he?" The sheriff's lips thinned, as if she actually regretted voicing her view aloud and pitying Mary Margaret for not seeing it the same way. Mary Margaret could practically see the words floating on air as Emma spoke them.

"A monster."

…

It was worse than she thought. Mary Margaret frowned at the latest copy of _The Mirror,_ laid open before her on the glass display case. There was a little article on the side about the sell-out of the candles, but her green eyes were drawn to the main storyline.

_**Storybrooke's Harlot Does It Again!**_ The headline exclaimed in thick, blocky letters. Below it were two enlarged pictures that made her stomach clench tightly.

One picture featured her and David kissing as they danced at the festival. Her arms were folded around his neck and it screamed passion-the kind of passion that tainted her reputation as the town harlot.

The other photo was of her dancing with Mr. Gold. His head was bent towards hers and her eyes were nearly closed, lips gently parted. Judging by the photo, anyone could guess he'd been about to kiss her.

Her lips drew into a thin, sorrowful line as she stared at the photos. Was this what Regina meant when she threatened to make her life miserable? _She's certainly doing a good job,_ Mary Margaret thought with a ragged sigh. _Has everyone in town seen it? Has Mr. Gold seen it? _

It had been a quiet morning, which was not unusual. What was unusual was how Mr. Gold had barely inclined his head towards her as he shuffled into the shop. Mary Margaret felt her heart ache; she knew it had everything to do with their moment last night. Emma's words echoed in her head. _It's not your job to pick up the pieces. _

The bell chimed, pulling Mary Margaret from her troubles. Surprised, she glanced up to see Ruby, a red-lipped grin plastered on her face. The ex-waitress's red-streaked hair flowed loose around her shoulders and denim shorts hugged her hips instead of the typical uniform she often sported. In her hands were two coffees. _Two? _

"Aren't I a good friend? I figured you'd need a little jolt after seeing _that_." Ruby gestured to the newspaper and its tell-tale images. She handed Mary Margaret her steaming cup of coffee, which she gladly accepted with a small 'thank you.' "So, you're turning into quite the natural Scarlett O'Hara."

Ruby lightly teased her, posing dramatically in front of the display case, flicking back her mane of hair. Mary Margaret felt a smile tug at the corners of her lips.

"It's complicated, Ruby," she replied softly, turning the paper over to avoid looking at the pictures again. Ruby tapped her nails on the glass, eyes roaming wildly around the shop. Like most people, Ruby had never dared step foot inside.

"See? Underneath all that saintly, pure virtue of yours, I knew there had to be a lioness clawing its way out." Ruby nudged Mary Margaret's arm and winked for emphasis. A steady blush rose to Mary Margaret's face. "Though, I certainly wouldn't go for someone as creepy as you-know-who."

"Ruby, I'm not—" Mary Margaret started to protest, but Ruby cut her off with a shrill gasp.

"Oh, my God!" Ruby's eyes had landed on a crimson, velvet cloak on a shelf and she instantly snatched it up. Her red lips were open in surprise as she draped the cloak over her shoulders. "This…is…to _die_ for!"

"Ruby, you just quit your job," Mary Margaret reminded her as Ruby found a dusty, full-length mirror and modeled in front of it. Mary Margaret couldn't help but to be amazed—the cloak did look perfect on Ruby, as if it had been waiting for her.

"Oh, but look at it! It is gorgeous and it's my favorite color!" Ruby turned this way and that, a confident smile forming as she did. Mary Margaret sensed a bit of déjà vu as she eyed Ruby, though she could not say why. The cloak simply looked…_good. _Suddenly, Ruby whirled around, eyes as bright as a child's on Christmas Day. "I want it."

Mary Margaret stared at Ruby in disbelief.

"But, Ruby—"

"Mary, I want it. I need it!" Ruby approached the counter, the cloak still wrapped around her shoulder and clinging to her body. How was Ruby even going to afford such a beautiful item?

"Ruby, it's—" Ruby's eyes nearly popped out of her skull.

"I. Want. It." Her fingers grasped the edges of the cloak like it was her saving grace. "Can't you give me a discount or something?" Mary Margaret was struck speechless by Ruby's desperation to have the cloak. She laid a gentle hand on Ruby's, pleading with her to see reason.

"Ruby, I can't do that. That cloak came in recently. There's not even a price on it, yet," she explained, shrugging apologetically. Ruby stared at her blankly.

"So?" Mary Margaret sighed—Ruby could be terribly stubborn on her best days. There was no arguing with her once her mind was made up.

"So," Mary Margaret pronounced slowly. "I'm not the one you need to talk to about it." Ruby's smile faltered slightly. The cloak slipped from her shoulders, the light in her eyes fading.

Ruby glanced at the curtain shielding the back room and pointed a finger, mouthing the words "_Is he here?" _Mary Margaret nodded and turned away. Ruby gazed longingly at the cloak, considering. The brightness returned to her eyes. "I want it."

"Then the person you need to speak with, dearie…is _me_," the rich voice came from somewhere near the register and Ruby's face paled as she turned. Mr. Gold was calmly standing there, though how he emerged so quietly Mary Margaret could not say.

Ruby straightened with confidence and nodded once. Mary Margaret absently guided a rag around the glass case, all the while watching the exchange. If Ruby was desperate for that cloak, she'd find a way to have it, no matter the price. _I just hope Ruby doesn't steal it. Ashley's already broken into his shop once. _

"Okay. How much?" Mr. Gold extended a hand and Ruby reluctantly gave him the cloak. His long fingers smoothed over it carefully, almost caressing it. _Caressing…Mr. Gold caressing her face as he leaned down to kiss her…oh Mary, stop it! _Mary Margaret shook her head, forcing the memory away. What was getting into her?

"This is a rather…_precious_ cloak, don't you agree?" Mr. Gold's dark eyes seemed to dance with amusement as he gently folded the cloak on top of the counter. Ruby laid her hands on it, inevitably drawn to it.

"How much?" Ruby repeated, growing impatient and practically bouncing on the balls of her feet. Mary Margaret had a feeling Ruby was to be sorely disappointed. Mr. Gold smiled and tilted his head inquiringly at the young girl before him.

"Two hundred," he stated, threading his hands together. Ruby's face crashed to the floor, along with any hope of having that cloak.

"Two hundred _dollars?_" Her voice screeched shrilly and her fingers curled over the cloak. Mary Margaret felt sorry for her. Her next job would have to be prying Ruby off the cloak and dragging her out screaming. "You've got to be joking!"

"On the contrary. I'm quite serious. Two hundred…or it's no deal." Mary Margaret knew Ruby had nowhere near two hundred dollars to throw away. Mr. Gold seemed to know this, too. He casually awaited Ruby's response, the girl's smile crumbling at his feet.

"One-fifty," Ruby foolishly tried to bargain with him, but it was no use. Mary Margaret knew that when Mr. Gold set his price, it was impossible to change his mind. Even more so than Ruby. _Oh, Ruby. Let the cloak go. _

"My price is non-negotiable, dearie," the pawnbroker said with finality, removing the cloak from Ruby's fingers. Mary Margaret watched as Ruby glared at him and stormed from the shop, forgetting her cup of coffee on the counter. "Another chip in the curse," Mr. Gold mumbled, though Mary Margaret thought she must have heard wrong.

"Hmm?" She eyed Mr. Gold curiously, but he simply shook his head. Purposefully, he avoided glancing directly at her, his brown hair framing most of his face.

"Never mind, Ms. Blanchard," he responded coolly before sweeping the curtain aside once more.

….

**So, how was that? Just a little something to tide you guys over until tonight's episode. An episode which I heard has a bit of Rumpel/Gold. Yay! (= **

**Now, I'd like to thank all of you who have alerted, favorited, and reviewed my story. My inbox was practically exploding throughout the past few days. I appreciate all the good comments out there! **

**To Leira1990: Thank you so much! It always makes me feel so good when someone says they created an account just to review my story! Aww, thanks! **

**To Annoying As Hell: Yes, I agree—Mr. Gold definitely needs a group hug. Although, I heard a spoiler that he's going to be sitting on Archie's couch soon, so maybe that will help him a bit. (-; I'm also excited for this upcoming episode! Can't wait! **

**Well, thank you everyone for taking the time to read! **


	12. Chapter 12

**A/N: Here's a pretty long chapter for you guys. I hope you enjoy it! (= **

**Chapter Twelve**

Sydney Glass sucked in a deep breath as he eased his old, rumbling car to a stop in front of Storybrooke's elaborate welcoming sign. The skies above were ridden with swirling gray clouds, a frosty wind shrieking outside his window.

Fifteen minutes ago, Emma had called him and asked to meet him on the outskirts of the town, almost exactly where Kathryn Nolan had mysteriously disappeared. She had made it sound like an urgent matter, something he could not pass up. _Wonder if it's anything Regina will be interested in. _

Through the windshield, Sydney could see Emma standing by her yellow Bug, arms crossed, a pinched frown on her lips. She did not look pleased. Had she discovered a crucial piece of information?

Sydney sat back in his seat and carefully patted his coat pocket—the tape recorder was there and ready to serve its purpose. Slipping his hand inside, he pushed the 'play' button and calmly stepped out of the car. The dry leaves of the woods crunched under the black soles of his shoes.

Sydney made sure his face was blank and smooth as the glass of a mirror before approaching the hard-edged Emma Swan. The sheriff sent him an icy glare—oh yes, something good was up today. _Don't hold back, Sheriff, _he thought as he imagined the rolling tape of the recorder inside his pocket.

"You sounded urgent over the phone. I came as quickly as I could," he assured her, his voice clipped and bubbling with enthusiasm.

In one sharp move, Emma unfurled her arms and slapped a newspaper onto the hood of her car. Sydney recognized the large pictures first; he was, after all, the one who snapped them.

"Thought you weren't working for Regina anymore," Emma bitterly accused him, the anger flashing in her green eyes. Sydney tore his own remorseful eyes from the foretelling images. Part of him regretted tearing Mary Margaret Blanchard apart like that, but Regina's orders were law, at least in his mind. Anything she asked, he was always willing to please her. _Her wish is my command…_

"I…I'm not. It was a good opportunity, so I—"

"You're lying," Emma cut him off swiftly, the two words as sharp as daggers. "And I'm done." Emma pushed past him with the intention of leaving, but he turned to catch her arm.

"It's not my fault! Regina...she would have destroyed me if I did not do as she asked. She can be so very manipulative…" Sydney protested, holding up his hands in surrender.

Emma opened her door, her eyes burning into him. Sydney was starting to believe that Emma had something in common with Regina: she was a woman you did not want to anger.

"Yeah, I can see that. Too bad for you, Sydney. You're just another pawn in her chess game," Emma replied as she slid behind the wheel. She deliberately lurched the car forward, nearly hitting him. Making a violent U-turn, Emma roared away, leaving Sydney to stare after her. _The Mirror _fluttered to the cold, damp ground, the front page torn to shreds.

….

_The misty fog was suffocating that night, drifting around her bare ankles and leaving a sheen of dew on her skin. The girl with the ebony hair and fair skin drew the dark cloak closer to her thin body as the mysterious man circled her, his boots clomping heavily on the dock. It matched her rapid heartbeat: thump, thump, thump. _

_ That feeling of recognition returned, but his name slithered into the shadowy corners of her mind. _I know you, _she wanted to tell him. _How do I know you?

_Maybe the name would come on its own. It was there, evading her. Or maybe her mind was simply playing tricks on her, conjuring this man from her imagination…_

_"Don't doubt yourself now, dearie," the man told her, his figure looming before her. A chill seeped into her; had he realized what she was thinking? "Love makes us sick. It haunts our dreams." _

_ She had the odd feeling that there was a deeper meaning to his strange words, but she could not think straight. Her mind was as foggy as the air around her—it was like she was simply a spectator in this girl's body. All she could see was the glimmer of his wide eyes, always watching her. Always watching…_

_ The dream shifted without warning. It suddenly felt less like a memory and more like an experience that she was currently living. _

_ The man's grin widened, baring his rather yellow teeth, some as sharp as fangs resting above his crude lips. His tongue swam along his teeth, a quick red movement. _

_ "Love haunts our dreams," he repeated slowly, his gold-tinted hand extending to her. Did he wish for her to take it? Her instincts screamed at her not to do so. In a flash, he strode forward, his long nails digging into her arms as he brought her close. The touch of his leather outfit was smooth, not unpleasant. His warm breath tickled her ear, his lips hovering close to her skin. "As I haunt yours." _

_ The last thing she recalled was the shrill cackle before the dream faded, her mind succumbing to empty darkness. _

….

Emma awoke earlier than usual to find a tired-looking Mary Margaret sitting at the bay window, gazing out at the town below her. She wondered what the young woman was thinking about, but simply shrugged. If Mary Margaret was still having troubles, she'd let her know in her own way.

Yawning, she opened one of the cabinets above the sink, only to have her fingers scramble around for…nothing. Her eyes opened wide as she peered into the cabinet. Frowning, she glanced over at the quiet Mary Margaret.

"I thought you said you were going grocery shopping yesterday after work," Emma called out to her in confusion. Mary Margaret lifted her head and saw the empty cabinets. "You did get paid, didn't you?" There was a warning in Emma's tone: _if he didn't pay you, there'll be trouble. _

"Yes, I got paid. I'll pick up some groceries today," she said almost absently, as if she were distracted. Emma closed the cabinet, the alarms in her head ringing out. Something was up here.

"Well, if you want, I could go out for some items before heading into the station," she offered, but Mary Margaret quickly got to her feet.

"No, Emma, it's fine. I just…forgot to go shopping last night." Emma crossed her arms and sent Mary Margaret a serious stare. The young woman blushed. Why did she ever try to lie to Emma? It never worked.

"You forgot?" The message was clear. _Yeah, right. Nice try, Mary. Now, what's the real reason? _

"Okay, there is a reason, but it has nothing to do with Mr. Gold. Trust me, it's just something I wanted to take care of," Mary Margaret said. Emma could not help but think her roommate sounded suspicious. This was the last thing she needed to worry about, what with the intensity of Kathryn's disappearance. "It's nothing illegal."

"Well, that sounds very promising," Emma sighed, wishing that Mary Margaret would tell her what was going on. What if it had something to do with…_Oh, come on, Emma. You've been listening to Sydney too much and look how he turned out. Regina's little spy. Mary Margaret doesn't have one bad bone in her body. _

Mary Margaret's bright eyes pleaded with her to understand. What was she to do?

Finally, she nodded and let the matter go against her better instincts.

"Fine. I was craving some of Granny's waffles anyway," Emma said as she went about her morning routine. Mary Margaret never mentioned the groceries again.

…

It was nearly five in the evening when Ruby showed up at the pawnshop, a satisfied smirk written all over her face. Mary Margaret nodded to her in greeting while Mr. Gold, who was standing behind the counter, laid his hands on the display case as his eyes met those of the ex-waitress. _Right on time, _Mary Margaret thought as Ruby did not hesitate to approach the pawnbroker.

"You wouldn't happen to still have that red cloak, would you?" Ruby flashed him her most dazzling smile, whipping out a handful of cash from the pockets of her jeans. Mr. Gold arched an eyebrow in question. Mary Margaret's breath caught as his brown eyes flickered to her for the briefest of moments.

"Why, of course, Ruby. Right this way," he motioned to one of the shelves in the back and Ruby hurriedly marched over to grab the cloak that was resting there. Immediately, her fingers roved over the soft velvet. "My price remains the same. Two hundred."

This time, Ruby did not so much as flinch at the high cost of the beautiful cloak. Confidently, she laid the wad of cash on the counter, removing her hands before Mr. Gold could touch her skin. Mary Margaret noted the look of happiness in her friend's eyes and smiled.

Swiftly, Mr. Gold counted through the money and nodded his approval.

"Now we're talking," he murmured as he tucked the money away in the register. Ruby instantly swept the cloak over her shoulders. It looked just as perfect as it had earlier, if not better. "Marvelous, if I do say so myself." Mr. Gold's eyes roamed over Ruby and she narrowed her eyes slightly.

"Thank you," she reluctantly retorted before breezing out of the shop, giving Mary Margaret a pleased smile as she swept past. A warm feeling traveled through Mary Margaret as she noted Ruby's happiness.

"It was very generous of you to share your first paycheck with Ruby," Mr. Gold quipped, his cane tapping on the floor as he limped around the display cases to where she was standing near the shelves.

The tapping of the cane reminded her of the way that mysterious man's boots sounded in her dream: _thump, thump, thump. _

Mary Margaret opened her mouth to deny it, but knew he'd see right through her.

"Ruby…she wanted that cloak so much. It made her happy," Mary Margaret softly mused, Ruby's overjoyed smile fresh in her mind. Mr. Gold stopped shortly before her and she realized that she was conveniently caught in the corner.

"Amazing, isn't it? How a person can trick themselves into finding happiness through a simple object." _As simple as a teacup, _he thought with a dull throb where a heart normally would be. Mary Margaret stared thoughtfully at him, raw determination to figure him out. No one could figure him out. He made sure of that. "The question, Ms. Blanchard, is whether the young Ruby _deserved_ it."

"Everyone deserves happiness," Mary Margaret automatically spouted, her virtues untainted and naïve, even after drinking his potion in that other realm. "It seemed like the right thing to do." Another naïve concept that Mary Margaret clung to, for the right thing to do was not always clear.

"The right thing to do? Once again following the right choice," he observed, his hand lifting to hover a few inches below her face. Mary Margaret waited to see if he would touch her, but his hand dropped back to his side, his gaze lowered. "Tell me, Ms. Blanchard…do _I _deserve happiness?"

_It is not your job to pick up the pieces of his mess for him, _Emma had said, her words ringing in Mary Margaret's ears. _I was right—he's reaching out. He's seeking comfort…perhaps I can give it to him. _

"Yes, I believe so," she told him, daring to cover the hand that rested on top of his cane. It was similar to that day when they had spoken of the right choice; again, she had given him that bit of comfort. And again, he watched her in slight wonder. "I'm sorry for the other night at the festival. I…I didn't mean…" Mary Margaret struggled for the right words, willing them to come. "If you think you scared me off, then you're wrong."

Mr. Gold eyed her for a long moment, her hand still gently lying atop his own. His other free hand rose once again, this time caressing the edge of her jaw and lightly brushing a piece of her dark hair away.

"Am I, now?" The words were barely a whisper, but they thundered in the silence of the shop. Mary Margaret tilted her head back a little, enjoying the pattern of his fingertips more than she should. A small smile graced her lips.

"Yes…I'm not afraid," she assured him. Everything in the shop seemed to fade into the background as their bodies remained only an inch or so apart.

It was the scene from the festival all over again—Mary Margaret was aware of his hand delving into her dark hair and stroking her neck while his head gradually bent towards hers. Her heart hammered in her exposed throat as he leaned forward with the intention of doing what he was unable to do at the festival.

With his lips an inch away from her own, he paused and she could feel his breath there like a slow wind upon rose petals.

"You should be," he whispered before their bodies finally made contact, his lips so close…

The bell above the door chimed, startling Mary Margaret. Blushing, she side-stepped around Mr. Gold to see Emma standing there, an anxious look on her face. Thankfully, she seemed distracted and did not notice the close proximity of her body to Mr. Gold's.

"Emma," Mr. Gold casually greeted her, finding his voice first. Mary Margaret's hands trembled a bit—she still needed a minute or so to recover. Emma did not glance at Gold at all; instead, she was staring right at Mary Margaret. "What can we do for you?"

"Actually, I'm here for Mary Margaret. I have something to discuss with her," she stated, each word tense and strained. Mary Margaret frowned—something was wrong.

"What is it? Has something happened? Is it about Kathryn?" The questions raced from Mary Margaret's mouth, worry starting to claim her. Did Emma find Kathryn or something about her? _Please, don't let her be dead, _Mary Margaret prayed silently.

Emma's eyes were unreadable and hard as she scanned Mary Margaret's face. She was searching for some kind of detail. A sinking feeling dropped into Mary Margaret's stomach.

"I need to talk with you _alone_," she emphasized, finally darting her eyes towards Gold. He simply inclined his head in response. "Let's go, Mary Margaret."

Just then, the bell chimed again and in stepped David, his face confused and worried. Relief passed over him as his eyes met those of Mary Margaret.

"Mary Margaret," he breathed. He took a step in her direction, only to have Emma's arm block his path. A remorseful look swept over her face.

"This is not a good time, David. I need to speak to Mary Margaret," she said, gesturing for her roommate to come forward. Shaken, Mary Margaret made her way to the center of the shop and she could feel Mr. Gold's eyes boring into her back. _Something's wrong. Oh, what has happened? _

"What's going on? Is Mary Margaret okay?" David switched his gaze from Mary Margaret to Emma to Mr. Gold and back again in a desperate effort to understand. Emma sighed, head hanging.

"I'd rather not do this here," she said, looking over their shoulders to Mr. Gold. He shrugged carelessly, smile mocking her.

"Don't mind me, Sheriff. Please, share," he encouraged her, obviously curious. Emma made a tough decision and released a deep breath. There were three pairs of eyes on her and it made her job all the more difficult.

"Today, I found a box buried near the Toll Bridge," she started, choosing her words carefully. No matter what she did or said, Mary Margaret and David would never be ready for what was to happen next. And Emma had no choice but to go through with it, unless she wanted Regina tearing her to shreds. "It had a human heart inside."

A gasp came from Mary Margaret while David's face paled. Emma watched Mr. Gold's expression the most and noted that he was not the least bit moved by the piece of information. It almost seemed like he expected it.

"We don't know until we've confirmed it, but Kathryn is the only one missing…" David's eyes closed and Emma could only imagine the guilt that was settling on his shoulders. A quivering hand lifted to Mary Margaret's lips, her green eyes wide with shock. "There was something else. There were fingerprints on the outside of the box."

Emma allowed the information to be absorbed by the group, all the while feeling her own mind break down with the weight of the news. David finally opened his eyes.

"Alright, if you're going to arrest someone…then take me in," he suggested, to Emma's surprise. _If only it were that simple, _she thought with a pang of regret. Mary Margaret lightly grasped David's arm and Emma did not miss the quick flash of jealousy in Mr. Gold's brown eyes. Still, she'd worry about that later.

"I can't do that, David," she slowly replied, slipping out her handcuffs from her pocket. David stared at them in puzzlement.

"Why not? If it has to do with Kathryn…whose fingerprints were on the box?" That was the terrible question and here it was, directed at Emma. Her throat tightened as she traced the outline of the cuffs in her hands.

"I ran the fingerprints through the database. There was a match. The fingerprints belong….to Mary Margaret." This time, it was Mary Margaret who blanched. David's head spun to gaze at the young woman beside him. Mr. Gold watched Mary Margaret with a hint of bemusement, hastily approaching.

Emma hated it, but it was her job. The evidence was overwhelming and there was no choice but to take Mary Margaret in for questioning. At least, this was what she kept telling herself as she bluntly secured the handcuffs around Mary Margaret's gentle wrists. _Someone like Mary Margaret could never do such a terrible, dark thing. _

To her extreme discomfort, Emma suddenly recalled Mary Margaret saying something to her recently. It echoed through her mind as she read Mary Margaret her rights and escorted her out of the pawnshop and into the waiting cruiser.

_Appearances can be deceiving. _

…

**Dun, dun, dun! I cannot wait until Sunday for the next episode! Heart of Darkness was fabulous! (-; **

**I want to thank those that recently reviewed. Your support and kind words mean so much to my story! Thanks, guys! **

**By the way…what ship name would you give this pairing? /= **


	13. Chapter 13

**A/N: Sorry for the wait, everyone! I've been waiting for something good to use from the show, especially since we have yet to see if MM will be truly convicted or not. I've been trying to figure out the best way to show insight on Gold's part…and I'm still working on it. **

**So, I've decided to give you guys the FT world for now, just to tide you over. **

**Also, I'd like to thank those that have reviewed my story recently. Here to Twyla Mercedes, Leira1990, GwenCooper456, The Narnian Phantom Stallion, and BlooperLover. **

**By the way, Leira, I read one of your recent reviews (about the white potion)…and I actually burst out laughing. I did not intend for it to come out that way, but isn't it ironic? (-; **

**Enjoy the chapter, everyone! Also, I think I like the pairing name White Gold. (= **

* * *

><p><em><strong>Chapter Thirteen<strong>_

It was a cold, silent night. The moon was concealed by a swarm of thick clouds, casting the Enchanted Forest into endless, murky shadow.

Snow readjusted her black hood as she slipped from the boundaries of the castle, being careful not to snap any twigs underfoot. The path to the river was clear in her mind; she had grown familiar with the forest while running from the Queen.

As the swift roar of the river reached her ears, memories of her journey with Charming invaded her mind. She softly laughed at the reminder of tossing him into the river. Her hand brushed over her abdomen-she had yet to drink the potion. _I'm doing this for us. I'm doing this for our child._

Snow broke through the foliage of trees and came to the water's edge. The miraculous blue of the tide sparkled as the moon peeked from behind the clouds.

Tentatively, she glanced around-the dealmaker was nowhere in sight. Perhaps he was running late, sidetracked with another of his deals. _It is true, then. He cannot resist making deals. And I am just another contract added to the pile. _

Throat dry, Snow knelt down and cupped a handful of the cold water. She brought it to her lips and sipped it, savoring the fresh taste of it in her mouth. It flowed down her throat and was almost magical in essence.

The hood of her cloak fell back, exposing her long ebony hair. Delicately grabbing the strands in a fist, Snow tucked her hair into the hood once more and stood.

"About time, dearie," his unmistakable lilting voice arose from behind her. Snow spun to face him-she hated it whenever he popped up out of nowhere. Inevitably, her eyes roamed over him, alluring as he undeniably was.

Clad in his crimson and black leather cloak, the moon set off a daunting gray pallor to his unnatural skin. His mystical gold eyes, nearly absent of any surrounding white, danced with raw glee. Dark, almost black lips curled over a row of jagged teeth. In one hand was a silver flask which he tipped to his lips, his tongue snaking over the rim. The fingers of his other hand tapped rhythmically against his side.

"Like what you see?" Snow blushed as she dragged her gaze back to his face, embarrassed that she'd been caught staring. Her brow furrowed as she hastily latched onto his earlier words.

"I arrived here before you," she corrected him, holding her chin high. Rumpelstiltskin's smug grin widened as the silver flask vanished into his leather cloak.

"So you think," he smoothly replied, pointing a slender nail at her. Snow grew tense. How long had he been watching her, hidden from view? The dealmaker released a shrill giggle.

"What are you going to do with me?" Her tone was absent of fear; she was simply inquiring. A series of scenarios flitted through her mind, none of which were entirely pleasing. Was he simply reaching out or was there a more devious ulterior motive turning like a telltale spinning wheel in his mind?

Rumpelstiltskin knelt before Snow, his fingers wiggling with anticipation before laying his palms flat against her stomach. She gasped lightly as his nails stroked her body. There was a moment of silence and then he glanced up at her with a dark, knowing smile.

"Someone didn't drink the potion," he said in a sing-song fashion.

Straightening, his rough hands scrambled over her body and Snow struggled to brush him away. Slipping into one of her pockets, Rumpelstiltskin drew out the vial of white liquid, holding it up so the moonlight shone through it.

"What's wrong, Snow? Having second thoughts?" He hissed the last _'s'_, like a looming snake.

Snow kept her lips clamped tight-she knew better than to argue or attempt to trick him. If she lied, he would most certainly know. It wasn't that she was having second thoughts about a child, it was the fact that…

"Ah, you don't trust me," he realized, shaking his head and clucking his sharp tongue at her. He brought his face close to hers until it was the only thing filling her vision. "Whether you drink it or not, you owe me your company. Until…" Tenting his fingers under his chin, he mocked the act of thinking critically. "Until I say so!"

Another giggle, this one drifting with an abrupt gust of wind. Snow's hair whipped loosely around her face, the tendrils coming to rest on her shoulders as the wind died down.

_Until I say so!_ Dread coursed through her veins, the terms of their deal echoing in her head. Her eyes locked on the bottle in the imp's hands.

"But, you said-" Rumpelstiltskin held up an impatient hand to silence her. Lowering his gaze, he made a show of examining his blackened nails.

"Yes, I said I'd enjoy your good company. I never mentioned how long it would be required of you. Deals can be quite tricky, dearie." He smirked at her as the moon descended beneath the clouds again.

Snow's mind raced, the chill seeping into her bones. How often would Rumpelstiltskin request her presence? How many times would she be forced to sneak away from the castle while her Prince Charming slept unawares?

The imp snickered at the realization dawning across her fair face. She was his prisoner.

He extended the vial to her.

"I'm inclined to make it forever. Why not make it worth it, Snow? Why not taste just…a little…sip?" Rumpelstiltskin loudly smacked his lips over the 'p'.

The vial was tempting, but it was also powerful. There was no telling what it would do. Charming's sad eyes filled her mind. _I'm doing this for us._

Decidedly, Snow accepted the vial. Rumpelstiltskin eyed her with amusement as she uncapped it, her fingers trembling slightly. Slowly, she raised it to her soft lips, the white liquid sloshing inside. _I'm doing this for our child._

The vial tipped and the liquid poured between her lips. It was surprisingly thick and left a bitter mint aftertaste as it tunneled its way down her throat. Snow wanted so desperately to spew it out, but her lips refused to part.

"I suggest you swallow it or else choke, dearie," Rumpelstiltskin advised her, staring calmly down at his nails. Snow did as he said, reluctantly allowing the liquid to subside. It chilled her insides all the way down.

The all-powerful dealmaker seemed to be bouncing on air, his grayish fingers now steepled at his lips.

"It has begun." And he smiled.


	14. Chapter 14

**A/N: It may have taken a bit of time for me to update, but I think the readers will enjoy this chapter. Plenty of good stuff, I think. And thank you everyone for the reviews! (= **

**As for pairing names for these two, I really do like Golden Snow. **

**Enjoy! **

**Chapter 14**

"Yes, yes! I wanted Kathryn gone. She was the only thing standing between my happiness with David. So, yeah, _I wanted her gone_. Is that what you want to hear?"

The minute the exasperated words tumbled from her mouth, Mary Margaret wished with all her heart that she could suck them right back in. It took her a full, dazed moment to even realize what she had just uttered.

Silence. Unbearable silence as the D.A. smirked victoriously from across the table—that had been _exactly _what he wanted to hear from her. And she had handed it to him on a silver platter. Proof that she was not the innocent schoolteacher she was made out to be. Proof that she wanted Kathryn gone, perhaps enough to orchestrate her disappearance. _Her murder. _

"I believe we're done here. I've gotten what I wanted," the D.A. announced, his chair scraping back against the cold tiled floor. Mary Margaret barely heard it, barely heard him as he exited the room with a few satisfied steps.

Mary Margaret's breathing quickened and a steady pink blush warmed her face. Her lips trembled as the full realization hit her. She had done it—she had messed it all up. She might as well have confessed to killing Kathryn, for what it was worth. _I messed it up. Just like that. _

She was going to jail. There was no way around it. The evidence was too much…

Mary Margaret was going to jail for a crime she did not even commit.

Tentatively, she dared to glance up at Mr. Gold, who was doing an excellent job of avoiding her gaze. Still, his lips were drawn into a thin line and his brow was fiercely knitted. Was he upset by her mishap? _I've disappointed him. I should have listened to him. I shouldn't have answered. _

Slowly, her green eyes traveled to the two-way mirror. Emma was undeniably watching from behind it. Mary Margaret's heart ached, knowing she'd just made her friend's job all the harder. Was Emma upset now? Losing hope?

"I'm sorry," she whispered. Whether it was for Emma, Mr. Gold, or even herself—Mary Margaret was unsure. It simply…needed to be said.

Mr. Gold stayed silent as he gathered up his cane and headed for the door. Without a word, Mary Margaret followed, matching his steps as if even the noise of her footfalls would make the situation worse.

The tapping of his cane was the only sound to be heard, bouncing sharply against the walls.

It was much like that day on the street, when she was shunned by the entire town. _Tap, tap, tap. _And like that day, she was hesitant to glance up and read the accusation in his brown eyes. _Homewrecker. Whore. Delinquent. Murderer. _

_Is he angry? Well, yes, of course he's angry. Is he angry…at me? Is he blaming me? Cursing my name? Or is he blaming himself? _

It was a dreadfully long walk back to the main portion of the Sheriff's station, even though it was only a two-minute walk on any other day. Mary Margaret kept her head down, her fingers weaving nervously together.

Slowly, she licked her lips, her heart hammering in her chest. It was too quiet—she had the urge to say something, anything. Even if it was to apologize again.

"Umm…" She murmured softly, but she knew he would be listening. Wasn't he always listening?

Mr. Gold did not meet her eyes; to any other person, it would seem as though he had not heard her. But she had been working in his shop for a good week now and was getting better at reading that mask of his.

His lips grew even tenser than before. His fingers gripped the head of his cane until the knuckles nearly shone white. He heard. He waited.

"I…I've messed it up. There's no chance for me…is there?" They were just outside Emma's office now. Emma would be waiting inside, no doubt prepared to tuck her away in that cell once more. The clanging of the bars shutting haunted Mary Margaret's mind.

Mr. Gold paused, his hand curled around the doorknob. She could tell he was debating whether to respond or not. At least he had the sense to think before speaking. _Messed it up…going to jail…murderer…_

"Do my ears deceive me? Is the graceful, virtuous Mary Margaret admitting defeat? Are you giving up hope, dearie?" Gradually, his body turned to face her. Mary Margaret focused her eyes on the gray, linoleum floor.

Hope…she had never been one to give up hope or else what kind of teacher would she be? But this…this was overwhelming.

"Maybe…maybe it's all I can do now. Admit defeat before someone else can do it for me. There's no way out. You can't do anything more—" Before she knew it, Mr. Gold had pushed her against the wall and pinned her there. Inches away, Mary Margaret had no choice but to look at him.

"I can't do anything? Is that so?" Mary Margaret heard the sharpness in his voice and shifted her head away. One of his hands caught her by the chin, forcing her to gaze at him. "Now, you listen to me, Ms. Blanchard. I told you I'd find a way to help you. And I always keep my word. My agreements are _always_ honored." This last he whispered to her, warning her.

Realization flashed in his eyes as he perceived Mary Margaret's shaken face, her lips still trembling. Carefully, he released her, backing away.

"I'll find a way," he vowed to her, walking away just as Emma emerged from the office to collect her and escort her back to her cell.

Mr. Gold always kept his word, whatever that word may be concerning his deals. But the last time he vowed he would 'find a way', he had made the worst mistake of his life. The last time he'd said those words, he'd transformed into someone he no longer recognized.

….

It was the day of the trial. The day her fate would be decided before the entire town of Storybrooke.

At seven that morning, she'd been stirred awake by Emma, only to be coldly escorted in handcuffs to the trial. The handcuffs dug harshly into her skin, but Mary Margaret did not say a word. All she could do was anticipate her sentencing.

Except it never came.

Mary Margaret stood on a corner of Storybrooke's main street, feeling as if it had been forever and a day since the sun last warmed her skin. A relieved smile dominated her lips—she could still recall how Emma told her the news. _Kathryn…outside the diner…found alive…_

Kathryn was alive.

The three words echoed inside her head, bubbling endlessly.

Of course, it also meant Emma had her work cut out for her, considering the notion that the heart inside the jewelry box could not possibly belong to Kathryn. _Which means someone tampered with the results…someone was trying to frame me again. Without substantial evidence, there's no trial. _

The white signal for the crosswalk flashed, but Mary Margaret paid no mind to it. There was something else Emma had told her before getting in her car with the intent of driving back to the station.

"You should…probably thank Mr. Gold. I don't know how, but I think he was the one who found Kathryn," she had suggested.

The revelation struck Mary Margaret hard. She recalled their last meeting. _I told you I would find a way to help you. My agreements are always honored. _

_Oh, God…he actually found a way. He found Kathryn. _Mary Margaret could not help but feel that she owed the man her life.

….

The clock tower struck 8:15. If there had been a trial, the whole of Storybrooke would be packed inside a stuffy courtroom, waiting to begin tearing apart the case of Mary Margaret Blanchard. But there was no trial, thanks to the rediscovery of Kathryn Nolan.

It was quiet inside his shop, but he was grateful for the silence. The mayor, he knew, would be outraged at Kathryn's untimely reappearance. In his mind, he could perfectly imagine the twisting of her lips, the red anger in her gleaming eyes, nails curved like daggers.

Oh, yes…he was planning on savoring this blessed serenity of his shop while he could. And then Regina would come and knock it down into countless shards.

Before he even made it behind the counter, the craving for a warm cup of tea in the back of his shop overwhelming, the bell above the door chimed. Mentally, he winced—there would be no choice but to deal with her now. _Shall I move some things aside, make a bit of space for your rage? _

Expecting a fuming Regina, Mr. Gold was taken by surprise to see his lovely employee standing there instead, having recently been released from custody.

"Ms. Blanchard," he greeted her with relief, limping forward. It was only a matter of time before Regina located him, but he was prepared to stall that inevitable confrontation as long as possible. Still, there weren't many places to run in Storybrooke. "Returning to work already?"

Mary Margaret's pink lips bore a genuine smile and she appeared livelier than she had in quite a while. It was pleasant to see her—to possibly touch her—without the crude bars in the way. Even in that other realm, there had been bars.

"I wanted to thank you for everything you've done," she carefully explained, holding her chin confidently as Snow had often done. Things were changing rapidly in this town. "Emma told me you found Kathryn. Is that true?"

Wonder and admiration sparkled in her emerald eyes. Even so, it was a far cry from the devotion and brightness that existed for David.

"Let's just say…I worked a little magic." Magic, indeed. And it would cost him later; his hand absently rubbing across his bad leg. All magic came with a price. "And how is the…_charming_ Mr. Nolan? He must be pleased you've been released."

At the mention of David, any chance of winning affection from her hurtled through the window. A relationship between them could never flourish—any bridge of such sort would simply be the curse's way of keeping Snow and Charming apart. That was what he told himself.

Mary Margaret frowned, shoulders drooping with heavy anxiety. He almost sensed the need to bring out the handkerchief again and cradle her head on his shoulder. Actually, that latter image was not unpleasant. _If only…_

"David and I…we haven't seen each other since he questioned me about killing Kathryn," she said, almost regretfully. Slowly, as if in a daze, Mary Margaret wandered to one of the display cases and traced an object with her finger. "Now that Kathryn is alive…what if he returns to her?"

The girl was torn; it was plain to see. Misery wafted around her like an unwanted scent. Before he knew it, he had crossed to her and laid an almost comforting hand on her back. Muscles rippled beneath his fingertips as she took in a shaky breath.

"My dear, if he rejects you, then he is a fool for not being able to see the beauty in front of him." _Just as I was foolish enough to reject Belle. My Belle…who does not exist in this world. _

Mary Margaret turned to face him, a questioning look in her eyes. Then, probably most amazing of all, she smiled for him. A sincere, warm smile—the kind that had never been offered to him save for Belle. One of her hands hesitantly rose to gently caress his face, sending thrills along his entire frame.

"You see? I knew you weren't a monster," she told him softly, drawing ever closer to him once she realized he was not willing to pull away from her touch. Oh, it was getting to be impossible to restrain himself, curse be damned.

"Prove it," he whispered to her, dipping his head close to her ear. Two words that challenged her to release that inner strength which was lying dormant inside her. Strength to cull the beast before her.

Mary Margaret registered the dark, hungry gleam in his eyes, but she did not shy away. With her fingers still brushing along his skin, she gradually leaned forward until their lips were only inches apart.

How easily he could have swept forward, but he patiently waited for her to make the first move.

Her timid breath brushed across his skin. Ever so gently, Mary Margaret placed a soft, sweet kiss on his lips. It rattled his nerves with electricity and it ended all too soon. His beauty broke the kiss, began to pull away…but the temptation was too great to resist any longer.

Cane clattering to the ground, his hands gripped her arms and swept her up, lips crashing together. Mary Margaret was surprised, but it didn't take her long to respond to him. Carefully, her arms circled his neck as the kiss deepened, his fingers sliding up her arms and supporting the back of her dark head.

Perhaps a bit forcefully, his body pushed her against the display case. Mary Margaret didn't seem to mind as she kissed him back, her hands smoothing across his chest. Mr. Gold moaned as his lips trailed down to her neck and her green eyes narrowed with bliss.

In Mary Margaret's mind, the desire was driving every bit of logic out the window. _Oh…this is the best I've felt…in so long…but David…_

What about David? He seemed to be slipping farther and farther as Mr. Gold's lips gently brushed along her shoulder, his tongue tasting her skin. _What about David? David stopped believing in me. Mr. Gold never did. He was there…he was there…_

Mary Margaret repeated it in her head like a mantra as Mr. Gold hoisted her body on top of the display case, his hands finding her hips. At the slightest urging, she laid her body back on the display case, his form hovering over her. His lips sought hers again and her fingers roamed through his hair.

As her fingers played with the buttons of his suit, a soft whisper floated near her ear.

"Are you sure this is what you want…Mary Margaret?" Her fingers paused as his breath warmed her ear. The thought of David nudged her mind again. But he had turned away from her. _He doubted me. And Mr. Gold…I want him…._

There was no question now.

"Yes," she whispered in return and she could imagine the satisfied smile playing on Mr. Gold's lips as his fingers traced over the edge of her shirt. Mary Margaret sighed as his teeth grazed the skin of her jaw.

"Then so be it." In ultimate bliss, on top of the display case, their bodies became one.

Mary Margaret sensed that she had her work of cleaning cut out for her tomorrow…but right then she didn't mind one bit.

….

**Dun, dun, dun! It has happened! **

**Thank you for taking the time to read, my lovely readers! Your support and words mean the world to me!**

**I hope everyone enjoyed…and is surviving the three week wait for episode 19. About two more weeks left. And counting. **


	15. Chapter 15

**A/N: Phew, a long chapter for you guys! Mainly because I dished out a lot of FT world and Storybrooke both. I hope everyone enjoys and I'm so glad for the good reviews. Those two have finally done it, huh? Yay for Marigold (or Golden Snow...or anything else you prefer). **

**Now, on to the next chapter!**

_**In The Fairy Tale World That Was…**_

Only a week or so had passed since her midnight meeting with Rumpelstiltskin by the river. A week and already the potion's magic was taking its toll. Always she was worn out from the simplest of tasks and she was certain that a steady bump was already swelling along her abdomen. _But it's not possible…it has only been a week! _

But it was magic and who knew what that imp's potions were capable of concocting? Snow knew of it better than anyone—just the memory of what she had become after forgetting Prince Charming still haunted her mind. Never would she become that dark again.

Snow gazed out over the Enchanted Forest, a calm hand protectively covering her vulnerable abdomen. A few bluebirds danced along the railing of the balcony, chirping their cheerful songs. To think that the last time she consumed a potion, she had nearly swatted a delicate bird with a broom!

What would this child be like, this child that was growing rapidly inside her even now? What other effects might this potion have on her? Only time would tell and it was too late to reconsider the idea of bearing a child.

_Perhaps I should have refused it. Perhaps I should have told Charming…_Oh, how she wanted to tell him the origin of this child that was coming, but her deal with Rumpelstiltskin forbade it. He'd made that clear before departing during their meeting.

"By the way, dearie…I trust you not to speak of my involvement with anyone. Better yet, you can refrain from mentioning anything about this deal to your beloved Charming," the imp had advised before slipping off into the shadows. And Snow had tried—many a time she had opened her mouth, having practiced the words in her head, ready to tell Charming what she had done…and nothing would come out. It was as though some barrier prevented her from making the effort.

And now…a child was coming. Their child. _This is what I wanted…I should be happy. _

"Snow, I've been searching all over for you," Charming called from the threshold. Snow smiled and turned to embrace her husband, nestling her cheek into his shoulder. _This is what I want. I should be happy. Then why is it so difficult to be? _

"Why do you worry so much? You always find me," she reminded him, kissing him passionately. Charming's blue eyes sparkled in the sunlight—a magnificent shade that easily put the hues of the richest oceans to shame.

What would her Prince Charming think if he knew about the deal she had recently struck? What would he think if he caught her one night sneaking from the castle to meet Rumpelstiltskin and she could not explain? Never had she kept a secret from him. _As if I have a choice. According to Rumpelstiltskin, everyone has a choice. And I made mine when I swallowed that horrid potion. _

"Wonderful news has come. There is to be a wedding for Prince Thomas and the lovely Ella," he cheerfully exclaimed with a warm smile. It was the best news since the Queen declared her threat. Snow hugged Charming instantly, genuine joy on her face.

"Oh, I am so happy for them! Two people able to find their happiness," Snow breathed with wonder. Her arms circled Charming's neck and he picked her up gently to spin her. Lovingly, he placed a kiss on her forehead.

"The wedding celebration will be held in a week's time. You see? The Queen's threat is nothing but words." Charming gazed meaningfully into her green eyes. Slowly, he started for their bedroom, but Snow refused to release his hand.

She had to tell him. Somehow, she had to make him aware of the situation at hand. She had to tell him of the coming of their child, at least. Surely, Rumpelstiltskin would not abhor her for spreading that news to her husband? _As long as I don't mention his involvement, the deal should remain intact. _

Charming paused, brow furrowing with immediate concern.

"Snow…what's wrong?" Lowering her head, she rehearsed the words in her mind. _Tell him, tell him, tell him…_

"James, you remember when I said I wanted a child?" She chose her words carefully, and was happy to hear them come out smoothly at the moment. Charming's lips creased into a worried frown and his hands firmly gripped her shoulders. Carefully, one of his hands raised her chin so that her eyes would join his.

"Snow, I told you. If it is meant to be, then—" Snow instantly gripped the hand holding her chin and pressed it to her abdomen. Charming studied her with a questioning look, until he began to understand. It was much too early for him to feel any movement inside her, but that was not the point. All he needed to feel was the tell-tale bump that had grown within the past few days. Then, his blue eyes brightened with realization and joy.

"James…I'm pregnant." Charming smiled the happiest smile since their wedding day. And then he swept her into his arms and kissed her until it hurt.

* * *

><p><em><strong>Storybrooke<strong>_

Mary Margaret would safely say that she had missed her apartment. The way the refrigerator hummed in the silence, the way the sunlight poured through the bay windows in the morning and brightened up the room, the way that she was free to roam as she wanted and not have to stay cramped in a tiny, dreary cell. She was so happy, she could dance.

"Feels good to be home, huh?" Emma appeared from her bedroom with one of her leather jackets, noting the smile on her roommate's face. Mary Margaret glanced around as if she hadn't been here in years. She could bake cookies, she could sing in the shower, she could jump on the bed if she wanted to—she was _free. _

"Yes, it feels…amazing. I don't know what to do first, but I want to do…_everything!_" She giggled at the thought of actually jumping on her bed like a six-year old. Emma laughed and threw on her jacket—she was heading out.

"That's what happens when you spend a few days in jail and almost get tried for murdering your true love's wife, I guess," Emma remarked, grabbing up her keys. Mary Margaret's mind turned to Kathryn—she hoped the woman was okay. _Maybe I'll stop by the hospital and check in on her. Besides, I feel guilty for saying I wanted her gone. I could never wish someone dead. _

"Off to the station?" Mary Margaret's smile dimmed as she remembered that Emma still had a job to do despite her roommate recently getting released. Surprisingly, Emma shook her head.

"Actually, no. I'm going to the store to pick up a few things for the party that was meant to be a surprise for you. Thanks to Henry, it's no longer a surprise," she replied, recalling how Henry in his excitement blurted out that he was looking forward to Mary Margaret's party that night.

Mary Margaret didn't mind; not because she was glad to be spoiled about the party, but because there was really no way that Emma could set up the party without her knowing. Where was Mary Margaret going to go in this small town while Emma organized a party? She wasn't scheduled to start work again until the next day.

"Oh, well…I'll put on my best surprised face," she assured Emma, practicing by putting both of her hands on her face and having her mouth drop open. Emma burst out laughing, sweeping her fallen hair from her face.

"Mary, please don't tell me _that's _your best surprised face?" Emma's face became an unnatural shade of red as she fought to control her laughter. Mary Margaret dropped her hands and shrugged.

"Practice makes perfect, right? I'll…go find a mirror," she said, starting for the bathroom. When was the last time she took a decent shower and primped? Not that she had ever really primped before, but maybe she would for the party tonight. Maybe she'd even wear a low-cut dress. Okay, that was perhaps taking it a step too far from her comfort zone.

"You do that," Emma sighed, pulling open the door. She stopped, as though just remembering something. "Oh, and what did Mr. Gold say when you thanked him?" Mary Margaret froze in her tracks as she recalled what she had just done with Mr. Gold. Done on top of a display case that had required extensive cleaning afterwards.

"Oh…um, he told me he worked a little magic," she stumbled. It was true—he had said that. Hopefully Emma wouldn't dig any further. Her roommate leaned against the door, swinging her keys.

"Yeah, that's what he told me as well. Wouldn't it be interesting if he had something to do with Kathryn's disappearance?" Emma was thinking out loud, but Mary Margaret still wrung her hands together and carried on the conversation. _Honestly, you'd think I was about to defend his honor…which, I might be. But that has nothing to do with the fact that we…that me and him…oh, God…_

"Emma, I told you how Regina basically confessed to me that she set me up—"

"No, I remember what you told me. It's just…maybe he was working with her," Emma suggested. She obviously did not like Mr. Gold, did not trust him as far as she could throw him.

_No, he wouldn't do that. Because then that would mean he helped her to set me up. No, it was Regina. He was there for me when David wasn't. He caught me when I fell..._

Emma shook her head again and waved the thoughts away for the moment. Mary Margaret was relieved—she wanted time to think about that moment with Mr. Gold and wasn't sure how to tell Emma just yet. She knew Emma would be far from pleased and would probably insist Mr. Gold was taking advantage of her.

"You're going back to work tomorrow, right?" Mary Margaret nodded silently and Emma appeared grim. Another good thing about Mr. Gold—he didn't seem ready to take away her job just because she'd been nearly convicted. "Well, I just hope he doesn't ride you too hard now that you're out of jail."

Mary Margaret almost slipped into a coughing fit because she was still imagining the way Mr. Gold's hands caressed her body, the way he had gently urged her back on the display case, the way his body had seemed to mold into hers and there had been so much bliss…Emma's choice of words hadn't helped a bit.

"Uh, um…what?" She stuttered, shoving those pleasurable notions from her mind as she returned to the present. Emma narrowed her eyes in suspicion, searching Mary Margaret's behavior for anything off. She slowly turned back, keys in hand, eyes scrutinizing her.

"I said…I hope he doesn't ride you too hard. Why? Is he?" _Is he riding you too hard, Mary Margaret? _She blushed modestly. Those magic fingers….his silky voice whispering in her ear…

"Um, no…he's not. I just…didn't hear you. Guess I'm still enjoying the freedom," she murmured, gesturing around the apartment. Emma frowned, concern flashing in her eyes. Mary Margaret just knew those alarms were going off in her head. _I lied. I know I did. And you know I did. _

"Mary Margaret…" There was a warning in her voice: _tell me the truth. _She crossed the room and placed her hands on Emma's shoulders. She wanted to tell Emma, wanted to unload and let her in on what had happened…but she needed time to think on her own.

"Emma, trust me. Everything is fine. You know I would tell you if something was wrong," she insisted sincerely. Emma gazed back at her, removing her hands from her arms. She forgot how little Emma liked personal contact. It was almost a motherly gesture, a comforting gesture…and it bothered Emma.

"Would you?" A startled look crossed Mary Margaret's face and Emma instantly regretted it. "I'm sorry. I know you would tell me if something was bothering you. Now, I better pick up those things for that special occasion that's supposed to be oh-so-secret." Emma smiled earnestly at Mary Margaret and slipped out the door. _I will tell you, Emma. Just…give me some time. _

Soon after, Mary Margaret slipped out of the apartment herself and allowed her feet to carry her all the way to a certain pawn shop.

* * *

><p>Only a few moments ago, the Stranger had appeared in his shop. The back of his shop, as circumstances would have it, while Henry Mills conveniently distracted him in the front. That man was searching for something, he knew. But what?<p>

Mr. Gold's mind was troubled with that odd scene as he wiped down one of the display cases with an old, gray rag. Now that he focused on the reality around him, he recognized the display case as the one where he had recently taken Mary Margaret, the two of their bodies joining together on top of it. He was rather surprised the case had not broken under their weight.

Inevitably, his memory revealed those moments by the river—after Snow had requested a child from him. It was the deal he had been waiting for, the one that would result in the existence of one special child. Emma Swan. His precious curse-breaker.

He reminisced about that time he had spent with Snow while her promised child grew within her womb. At first, the meetings had been a ploy—a way to ensure the existence and protection of the key. Emma. He could keep watch on Snow, could watch as her abdomen swiftly swelled.

As the meetings continued, something changed. It had been Belle all over again. Someone who could see what lay beyond the mask of a monster. And he had let her come close. Just like a few days ago when he had finally given in to the temptation, had claimed her for his own.

Those bright green eyes, those soft lips. The ache for her had been almost too much to bear. It still was. But it was more than that, though—Snow was a beautiful soul; she had only ever been marred by his potion, the one that had helped her forget Charming. He had detested doing that to her, even if it had been to bottle the most powerful magic. _True love. _Even if it had been to mix a potion so powerful, it would create a most magical being inside Snow. _My curse-breaker…Emma. _

Even in this world, she was beautiful. He wasn't sure you could call that deep ache "love", but he longed for her. Someone who could see inside him, know that he was not just a monster. The only two people that had done that before were Bae and Belle. Bae was lost to him and Belle…he'd made a mistake with Belle. He could not afford to make the same mistake with Snow. With Mary Margaret.

Mr. Gold was still clutching the gray rag, gazing absently at the shelves when the bell above his door chimed, announcing another customer. _I wonder who it is this time? So many visitors today. _

He turned to see Mary Margaret herself, standing there with a light smile and he wondered if his reminiscence had conjured her. Dropping the rag, he limped towards her, glad it was her and not that Stranger again. There was something…off about that man. _And I'm intending to find out what that is. _

"Ms. Blanchard…back so soon?" He tilted his head to study her as she blushed—it was a nice, rosy color. He found he rather enjoyed it.

"We just did the most unthinkable…pleasurable…_thing_ and you're still gentleman enough to call me 'Ms. Blanchard'," she pointed out, laughing softly. Mr. Gold gripped his cane and extended a hand to her. A smile creased his lips, a dark gleam in his brown eyes.

"Mary Margaret," he complied, his tongue rolling over her name. She tentatively laid her hand in his and he gently urged her forward into his arms.

"That's better," she murmured, allowing him to hold her. He wasn't sure if she was talking about the use of her name or if she meant it felt better to be in his embrace, but he didn't mind. This _was_ better. Slowly, he brought a finger under her chin and raised it so that his lips could easily find hers…

And was surprised when she drew away from him before he could get the chance to kiss her. Mary Margaret crossed her arms, head bent to stare at the floor. Awkwardly, he dropped his arm and licked his lips. Did she regret what they had done? Was she thinking of…_Charming? _

"I'm sorry…I just need time to think. The reason I came here is because Emma is throwing me a kind of 'welcome home' party tonight," she said, lifting her head to gaze hopefully at him. He maintained a blank, calm expression, his mouth still craving hers.

"And?" Mary Margaret frowned slightly, as though disappointed.

"And…I was hoping you would come. For me." He voice was soft, but pleading. He refrained from answering right away—his mind was still mulling over the mystery that was the Stranger. Here he'd been intent on going home, brooding over that mystery in his library. Gradually, he turned away from her, his eyes on the curtain. She needed time to think? Well, apparently so did he.

"Honestly, I'm not quite sure—"

"Please," she practically begged, her arm catching hold of his. Those emerald eyes shined and widened. Mr. Gold felt his walls chipping away, felt those plans of unraveling the Stranger's mystery slip away as he met those beautiful eyes. It was as though they had magic of their own.

"Very well. I'll even bring a gift," he relented, making her smile. At that moment, he would have done anything just to keep her smiling for him.

* * *

><p><em><strong>In The Fairy Tale World That Was…<strong>_

Always it was a special time when a wedding or a celebration took place in the Enchanted Forest. It was a time where worries of war and the Queen's threat were stored aside and all could be merry for at least a while.

For the first time since her own wedding, Snow White was brandishing a warm smile, cheeks red as apples as she witnessed the beautiful Ella descend the grand staircase in her sparkling white gown. It was a sight to behold—Prince Thomas' new bride, thrust into the role of caretaker at a young age, now a golden princess. _Love truly does conquer all, _Snow mused happily as she clapped along with the rest of the crowd.

Clad in a lavender gown, Snow spun across the marble floor as the inevitable dancing began. Once Snow had twirled along with Ella, she had sincerely congratulated her, even told the girl she was proud of her. And she was. It was proof that the times of damsels in distress were long past—Ella had a strength in her, Snow knew.

Under the glow of the candlelight, Snow savored the blissful comfort of Charming's touch. Her gown flowed around her, light as flower petals so as not to bring attention to her rapidly swelling abdomen. It was their secret for now and this was Ella's night. Glimpsing the blonde princess, Snow had the suspicion that Ella's womb was just as tender.

"I truly am proud of her," Snow told Charming, the smile commanding her soft lips. Charming's blue eyes sparkled in the candlelight—it offered the sensation of diving into the clearest, purest skies.

"She is another who has found happiness in this place. Perhaps our child will be as much a blessing. Snow, it's time we truly found our happiness," Charming replied, his strong hands coming to rest gently on her forearms. Snow's smile faltered slightly. _Oh, if you only knew how I came to bear this child. _

"Oh, Charming…we will. No matter what the Queen threatens, we will," she whispered, her heart racing in her throat. Nothing could tear them apart—no magic, curse, or Evil Queen. In an attempt to forget that trouble, Snow's green eyes located Ella in the crowd once more.

Snow's steps instantly halted, the blood in her veins growing cold. The lilting music died away. Even Charming faded into the background as her mind registered what she was seeing.

Ella was dancing as she should. Ella was dancing…with _him. _The all-powerful dealmaker. Rumpelstiltskin.

Something was wrong. Ella's face was pinched with anxiety, the girl nearly brought to tears as he finished telling her something. Swiftly, he released her, causing her to spin dizzily and vanished into the crowd.

Snow rushed to Ella's side and scanned the crowd frantically. He was gone, not a trace of him left in sight.

Ella was nearly shaking, a hand pressed to her abdomen and eyes wide as saucers. Clutching her elbow, Snow supported the newly married princess. She could feel Charming behind her, his hand resting on the small of her back.

"Ella? What did he tell you?" The girl was pale, barely able to speak a proper syllable. "Ella?" Slowly, Ella raised her head to gaze at Snow as though just realizing she was there.

"He…he told me…" A soft whisper; Snow was forced to strain her ears to hear her. There was no doubt that Ella must have made a deal with Rumpelstiltskin—but what was her price to pay? _And tonight of all nights, when she should be happy and not worrying over such details. _

"Yes?" Ella's lips trembled and a silent tear slid down her face, along her jaw. Her wide eyes met Snow's concerned ones and she gripped Snow's arm desperately.

"He wants my first-born child." Snow gasped and her hand flew to her own abdomen, where her precious child was growing, the result of a magic potion. _Then what does he want with my child? _

* * *

><p>That night, while Charming slept soundlessly beside her, Snow was wide awake mulling over troubling thoughts. <em>Poor Ella. No one breaks deals with Rumpelstiltskin. <em>Including her.

A soft fluttering broke the silence as a bluebird flew in through the window, landing on her pillow. Snow sat up in bed, eyeing the bird with curiosity. There was a note in its beak and Snow gently retrieved it, sending the bird flying away. Clutching the note, she stared at the balcony where the bird had disappeared.

She already knew who the note was from. Yet, she unraveled it anyway, just to make sure. And yes—there was the fine scripted hand, bearing only a few words. _The river. Tomorrow night. Remember our deal. _

Snow glanced over at Charming, who was smiling in his sleep. Was he dreaming of her? Of her and their happiness? Snow clenched the note in her hand and sighed. What choice did she have?

No one breaks deals with Rumpelstiltskin. No one.

* * *

><p><strong>So, how did you all like it? The episode last night was very good and my heart almost broke for Mr. Gold! What did you guys think of it?<strong>

**Here's a shout-out to my reviewers (because they are wonderful): DragonRose4 , Twyla Mercedes, Lavender Leo, and Leira1990. **

**Thank you all for reading and reviewing! **


	16. Chapter 16

**A/N: Hello, everyone! First off, I want to thank the reviewers—you guys rock! And now I hope you enjoy this next chapter! Kind of a long chapter, but I don't think many of you will mind about that. **

**Chapter Sixteen **

_**In The Fairy Tale World That Was…**_

The night was still, as though every inhabitant of the Enchanted Forest were waiting in anticipation for the secret meeting that was to come, just as Snow was anticipating it. It was nearly midnight, time to move.

Slowly, she arose from the bed, being careful not to cause the bed to creak under her weight. She would don a cloak, she would make the journey to the river, she would meet with Rumpelstiltskin and all the while Charming would never know—

A warm hand encircled her wrist and she gasped.

"Snow?" Prince Charming sat up in bed, rubbing at his tired eyes. Snow's heart thudded almost painfully as he gazed at her, his blue eyes brimming with too many questions. First and foremost: "Where are you going?"

She hastily opened her mouth to answer, but no sound followed. She might as well be mute, for all it was worth. Lowering her head, avoiding his pure blue eyes, she did what she vowed never to do with Charming: she lied.

"I can't sleep. I was going to take a walk on the castle grounds to clear my head," she explained carefully, getting to her feet. There was no doubt in his eyes, no suspicion—but of course he trusted her. Maybe that was the worst part about the burden of this deal. Charming trusted her too much.

Drawing back the covers, Charming prepared to leave the comfort of their bed. Snow watched him with dawning surprise.

"What are you doing?" Charming dragged on his boots after assembling his clothing, a wry smile on his face. He attached his sword to his hip, the sword he never left without for fear of the Queen making good on her threat to Snow.

"Snow, I'm going with you. You thought I'd let you go alone? The Queen—"

"The Queen is not coming tonight," Snow insisted, placing her hands on his chest to stop him. "Please, James…I'll be fine. And if I get lost…" She trailed off, waiting for him to swear it to her as he always did. Charming brushed a strand of dark hair from her face and laid a kiss on her cheek.

"No matter where you go…I will always find you," he vowed. Once it had been a threat, now it was their promise to one another. Snow could shed tears at Charming's faithful, brave expression then and there. It was torture being apart from him for even a moment, lest something tragic should happen.

"I know you will," she replied, caressing his jaw. Charming drew her in for a kiss—they made each one count, for who knew whether it would be their last? Charming unexpectedly pulled back, his eyes becoming abruptly serious in the dim light.

"Snow, do me one favor. Take a guard with you," he requested, to which she automatically shook her head. His hands found her arms and held her steady. "Snow—"

"I can handle myself. Don't you remember?" She laughed softly as she recalled pelting him with rocks more times than one, pushing him into the river, and besting a group of trolls in his honor. Charming's grip tightened—he was being completely serious.

"I know you can…but if something happens to you, I'll never be able to forgive myself. Especially with our child coming. It will ease my mind if you have someone guard you," he said, leaving her to summon a guard. Snow reluctantly agreed, though she knew she might have to ditch the guard in order to meet the dealmaker.

_It will ease his mind. _Swallowing her complaints, Snow White and her guard ventured out into the Enchanted Forest…but only one would return.

* * *

><p>Mary Margaret was pleasantly surprised—not by the party which was meant to be secret, but by the number of people that actually attended. Emma had more or less managed to round up everyone, excluding people like Regina and Sydney Glass. Even the Stranger had shown up, though Mary Margaret had to admit she did not know him all that well.<p>

She knew most of these people were genuinely relieved that she was innocent, but she also knew that these were the same people that shunned her just yesterday, people who were quite satisfied with placing the blame on her for Kathryn's disappearance.

Still, she smiled as everyone welcomed her home. They had even brought out a large cake with sugary white frosting.

And, to her greatest relief, Mr. Gold had kept his word and had made an appearance, though she had yet to make her way over to him. Whenever she tried, someone would intercept her and distract her with exuded joy at her being released from jail, each one claiming they knew all along she couldn't have been responsible for "that tragedy."

Just as she saw her chance, Emma took her by the elbow and pulled her aside. Frustration and worry flashed through Emma's eyes.

"What's Mr. Gold doing here?" Emma jerked her head in his direction across the room. Mary Margaret followed the motion and shrugged as she caught his eye. He was standing apart from the rest of the crowd, but somehow she didn't think that was a big surprise.

"I invited him," she said firmly, crossing her arms. Where did that attitude come from? Things were changing a lot lately in this town—she could even recall round-house kicking their kidnapper, Jefferson, through a window.

Emma frowned with concern. Someone had plugged in a radio and began playing music. Ruby was the first to holler and twirl her body, dragging a red-faced Archie to his feet.

"Why?" There was disdain in Emma's voice. Besides Regina, Mr. Gold was obviously her least favorite person. _Not like the Stranger, _Mary Margaret thought, having noticed the way those two continuously met eyes since the party started. _It's Graham all over again. _

"He's my…" Mary Margaret paused. She struggled for the right words. _He's my…lover? Not a good term to use around Emma. _She bit her lip lightly. "He was my lawyer." At least it was the truth—she hated lying to Emma.

"And your employer. Besides, I still have my suspicions. What if he really is involved with Regina?" Emma glanced warily at the pawnbroker, the wheels in her head turning rapidly. Mary Margaret sighed.

"Emma, he was my lawyer. He is not working with Regina." She refused to believe that he would insist on representing her and then plot to convict her of Kathryn's murder. Not after what they'd just done together in his shop. _And I still have to tell Emma. Not tonight though. _

Emma whirled to face her, brought back to reality by her recent words.

"Well, I still don't trust him," she insisted, keeping her voice low so only Mary Margaret could hear. Mary Margaret smiled reassuringly and placed a comforting hand on Emma's shoulder.

"You don't have to," she boldly stated before walking away, leaving Emma to stare after her in bewilderment. She wasn't sure what had gotten into her tonight—maybe it was just the loose atmosphere of the party—but she decided she liked it. It felt good to not be so reserved and delicate.

Mary Margaret pushed through the crowd until she reached the other side of the room, disregarding people who opened their mouths to once again greet her and support her. There was only one person she had an interest in talking to at the moment. Mr. Gold lingered by the bay window, eyes gazing absently over the dark town.

"It's like a completely different world at night," Mary Margaret mused as she joined his side, absorbing the sight of the dark woods on the fringes of the town. The illuminated clock tower loomed above the rest of Storybrooke, ticking away what seemed like precious seconds. Slowly, Mr. Gold was pulled from his thoughts and turned to face her.

"Indeed it is," he replied softly. She wondered what he had been thinking about, but she figured it would be rude to pry. Instead, she reached out to touch his arm, as if to make sure he wasn't a mirage about to vanish into thin air.

"You came," she breathed, green eyes sparkling with content. Nearby, Emma's eye caught Mary Margaret's and she removed her hand from Mr. Gold's arm. Emma arched an eyebrow questioningly at her. _What was that all about? _She imagined Emma interrogating her just that way.

"I'm a man of my word. Which reminds me," he said, retrieving something from one of his suit pockets. "A gift, just as I promised." In his hands was a small velvet box, the kind that often held exquisite jewelry. Exquisite jewelry such as a wedding ring. For a moment, Mary Margaret froze as she eyed the small velvet box.

"Are…are you…?"

"Don't worry, Ms. Blan—Mary Margaret," he hastily corrected, remembering what she'd said in his shop. A thin smile played on his lips. "I'm not proposing. Unless, of course, you'd be disappointed by that fact."

Mary Margaret nervously laughed as she accepted the box, cradling it in her hands. Snapping open the lid, she gasped as she observed the golden drop necklace. Her fingers gently traced the shape of the drop; she was struck speechless by its simplistic beauty.

"It's beautiful," she whispered, hardly daring to remove it from its box. Suddenly, she recognized it as one of the necklaces that had existed in the display case in his shop—she recalled eyeing it longingly while washing down the case.

"You were admiring it once, I believe," he mentioned, as though reading her mind. Leaning his cane against the wall, Mr. Gold carefully removed the necklace from its box.

Turning, Mary Margaret allowed him to drape the necklace around her throat, the cool thin chain resting against her ivory skin. As he clasped it, he released it and the golden drop fell just below the hollow of her throat. His fingers smoothed down her arms as she lightly turned, a smile on her face.

"Take my word that it is lovely," Mr. Gold complimented her, making her blush slightly. Her fingers traced the necklace again.

Across the room, Emma was ushering Henry out the door, only to find David at the threshold. Emma spotted Mary Margaret and made a gesture to ask whether to let him in. Mary Margaret shook her head—she wasn't ready to deal with the problem that was David yet.

Mr. Gold smirked as Emma gave David some excuse to prevent him from seeing Mary Margaret. He almost wanted to wrap his arm around Mary Margaret's waist, just for show. _So sorry, Charming. You had your chance. Or should I say…chances. _

"If you'll excuse me, Mary Margaret, I'd like to have a word with Miss Swan," he murmured in her ear, making his way across the room. Mary Margaret gazed back out at the window as David crossed the street. As if he could sense her eyes on him, he paused and glanced up at the window. There was a pitiful look in his eyes, one that could only scream _I'm sorry. _

Mary Margaret turned away from the window to join the party once more, shoving all thoughts of David aside. Still, the memory of his sad eyes haunted her along with their message.

_I'm sorry. _

_Me, too, David. Me, too._

* * *

><p><em><strong>In The Fairy Tale World That Was…<strong>_

Snow White knew this was a bad idea. She knew something was bound to go wrong.

The guard trailed Snow White through the castle doors, to the outside world. There was no way she could lead this man to the river, to Rumpelstiltskin—but she couldn't avoid the river, either. A deal was a deal.

The moment they stepped outside, Snow spun on her heel to face the young soldier. He was slightly taken aback by her confident stature and demanding tone.

"Honestly, I do not need an escort. I can handle a walk among the grounds," she insisted, smiling reassuringly. The guard glanced down at the ground uneasily. She didn't blame him for wanting to do his duty, but she was also not a weak, distressed princess. She had survived in the woods on her instincts alone.

"My lady, your husband told me—"

"My husband worries too much because of the Queen. I'm going for a walk. I'm not going off to do battle. I'll only be a few minutes," she assured him, gently patting his arm. The guard seemed unsure, his lips pulled into an anxious frown. Still, she could feel his defenses breaking down.

"My lady, I have a better plan. Allow me to wait here for you," he suggested, motioning to the castle doors. Snow glanced at them and then nodded.

"Agreed," she said firmly before wandering away towards one end of the castle grounds. The guard counted to fifty in his head and then soundlessly left his post by the door.

Unbeknownst to Snow White, he was silently watching as she slipped into the edges of the forest—she most certainly wasn't just taking a walk. Sighing, the guard made certain his sword was attached to his hip and then began to follow Snow White wherever she may lead him.

* * *

><p>Snow broke through the foliage of trees and stepped closer to the river. He was already waiting for her, perched on a boulder that rested near the water's edge. Casually examining his blackened nails, those glowing eyes snapped up, landing on her like a vulture seeking out its prey. His lips split into a grin.<p>

"Oh, Snow. You're rounding out quite _nic-e-ly,"_ he announced, the last word in the form of a hiss. Snow involuntarily shivered and she drew the cloak closer around her body. The rush of the water seemed to be the only sound between them.

"You were there…at Ella's wedding celebration," she said, taking a light step forward. Rumpelstiltskin hiked his legs up on the boulder. Resting his leather-clad elbows on his knees, he avidly leaned forward.

"Oh, yes. Cinderella," his tongue drawled over her name. A high-pitched giggle rose from his throat. "Did you perhaps want me to save you a dance?" He extended a hand to her, as if asking her now. Snow studied him, not knowing what to expect from the imp. Dropping his arm, he visibly deflated. "I was simply congratulating dear…_Ella_…on her lovely marriage. Though, she should be giving _me _the kind words."

"You made a deal with her," Snow mused. Rumpelstiltskin immediately cut her off, raising a golden-gray finger. His body perked up, his movements lucid.

"Correction! _She _made a deal with _me_." Snow tilted her head, thinking. Trying to figure out the challenge that was displayed before her.

"Does it matter?" Rumpelstiltskin placed a hand on his chest, his mouth dropping open in faux offense.

"Why, of course it matters, dearie. Cinderella…practically begged at my boot to help her. And I, being the merciful dealmaker, did. Now I'm collecting what belongs to me." Snow's guard was up—she did not know how much she could trust this man. His power was extraordinary, attracting her like a moth to a deadly flame.

"What could you possibly want with her child?" It was not so much an accusation as it was pure curiosity. _And what do you want with my child? _

Rumpelstiltskin seemed to recline back on the rock, a satisfied smile creasing his lips. He _tsk-tsked_ a couple of times, berating her.

"That," he replied with extra emphasis on the last 't'. "That is none of your business. That is only for me to know." Snow lowered her hands to rest on her slightly swollen abdomen. Even now, she could practically feel the child growing, expanding in her womb due to the magic that fueled it.

"And what about me? Am I an investment to you?" Snow did not mean to sound hurt or disappointed, but there it was. Wide eyes glimmering, Rumpelstiltskin leaped off the boulder and swooped toward her, his golden-skinned fingers extending to either side of her face.

"Oh, Snow. You are much more than an investment. Much, much more!" His finger tapped her nose mockingly, his lanky hair cascading along his jaw.

Abruptly, a wave of nausea settled over her and a deep ache traveled through her abdomen and seemed to rocket up her spine. Either something tragic was taking place or this was another side effect of the potion.

"What's wrong, dearie? You're looking awfully white. White…as…snow," he taunted her. Black spots danced before her eyes, her knees buckled…and suddenly the ground was rushing up to meet her. "Snow?" This time her name—with a tiny hint of concern.

It took her a moment to realize that Rumpelstiltskin's arms were encircling her waist—he had caught her before she fell. Her head rested on his shoulder and his fingers stroked her ebony hair. This way, she could almost imagine the two of them dancing. If it weren't for the upset in her abdomen, that is.

Snow drew in a fresh gale of air, inhaling Rumpelstiltskin's earthy scent as she did.

"It's…it's just a little discomfort. The potion…" She gazed up at him, starting to explain. His fingers were still delving into her hair, understanding written in his mystical eyes—

"Snow White?"

Snow whirled to see the guard standing on the fringes of the forest. Her heart raced with pity and fear as she realized he must have followed her. If he had been listening…_How much? How much did you hear? _

The guard eyed Snow and then flashed wary eyes to Rumpelstiltskin, his gloved hand reaching for the hilt of his sword. Rumpelstiltskin's hand tightened on Snow White's arm as he spun her to face him, his face a mask of rage.

"You led him here," he spat at her, yellowing teeth bared. Snow frantically shook her head, her green eyes widening as his grip became the likeness of iron squeezing her immovably. The guard stared in shock at the two of them, struggling to decide his next move.

"He followed me here," Snow replied, trying yet failing to wrench her arm away from the dealmaker. Abruptly, Rumpelstiltskin veered toward the guard, sneering.

"Is that so? A _spy, _then. How unfortunate," he shot at the young guard in a low growl. Snow managed to free her arm and placed a hand on Rumpelstiltskin's chest, much like she did recently with Charming. His golden eyes seemed dazed for a moment, then suspicious.

"Please. It won't happen again," Snow pleaded with him, trying to block his view of the guard. Rumpelstiltskin gripped her arm, pulling her in close to his face. Snow's heart pounded in her throat as she registered only darkness in the depths of his eyes.

"Oh, I'm about to make sure of that," he whispered, releasing her. Snow teetered on her feet for a second, but it was enough for Rumpelstiltskin to stride in the guard's direction. There was the sound of his sword being unsheathed, held out in defense. The blade trembled as the guard anticipated Rumpelstiltskin's attack.

Perhaps it was then that Snow White realized this poor man was about to die.

"No!" Snow White yelled into the night, but it was much too late for the guard.

Before he could even swing his sword, Rumpelstiltskin paused a foot or so from him. Then, there was a crackling of energy in the air—of magic. A swirl of purple smoke trapped the guard, suffocating him. When it cleared, all that was left was a helpless snail, the guard's sword clattering to the ground beside it.

In horror, Snow watched as Rumpelstiltskin grinned deviously before bringing his boot down on the snail, crushing it with a sickening splat. Snow gasped, covering her mouth with a hand to prevent the inevitable sob from escaping. _What have I done? Because of me…that guard is dead…because of me…_

Chillingly, Rumpelstiltskin swiped his boot across the ground, wiping off any excess remains of the snail formerly known as guard. With a wide, malicious smirk, his golden eyes met her green ones.

"It will never happen again."

* * *

><p><strong>Dun, dun, dun! Not a good way to go, huh? <strong>

**Just a note: the necklace is the same that Belle wears in Skin Deep (with her yellow dress). **

**I'm glad so many people are enjoying this couple! And how did you all like the latest episode of OUAT? **


	17. Chapter 17

**A/N: Sorry it took a bit of time for me to update. I just finished one of my other stories and finals. **

**But now…here is a new chapter for you all to enjoy! **

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter Seventeen<strong>

She was leaning against a boulder, the cool water of the river ebbing over her bare feet. She was grateful for the change in scenery from that dreary, cold prison. Her soft hands rested upon her abdomen, which was greatly extended before her. A swift kick from the child inside her. Her child.

Fingers played with the strands of her black hair, spinning it along golden skin. Glancing up, she realized she was leaning against his leather-clad legs as he perched atop the boulder. His mysterious, murky eyes were watching her with fascination.

And she still could not recall his name, though at times it seemed to dance close to her tongue.

But his face…it was difficult to notice at first, but he reminded her of someone. He reminded her of Mr. Gold. This time there were no shadows to block his features.

"Won't be long now," the man gleefully declared, gesturing to her round belly. His voice was snake-like, several notes higher than Mr. Gold's voice. And his eyes were not the rich, fathomless brown she had grown accustomed to. They both had the same type of accent and lean build; she liked the support of his body against her back.

She patted her abdomen, imagining the child that grew inside. Then she gently tugged on the hand that twirled her hair.

"She's kicking. Here, feel," she encouraged him, pressing his hand against her bump. It was not a question about the child's gender. Somehow, she instinctively knew that her child was a girl—and a strong girl at that. _As strong as Emma, I hope. _

The mystical man spread his fingers across her belly and smiled when the child kicked against his palm. The smile…it was one of genuine wonder. Like the smile of a father when he learns that a child of his is coming into the world.

"So she is," he mumbled, his voice sounding a little more normal now. She could hear the similarity between his voice and Mr. Gold's. Though, this man's baroque was a bit thicker. With his hand still on her abdomen, he closed his eyes as though savoring this moment.

"Did you…did you ever have children?" She watched as his eyes snapped open, surprised by the unexpected question. Those near golden eyes grew glassy as he seemed to recall another time. A sadder time.

"Yes," he whispered, his voice stricken with grief. Slowly, he withdrew his hand and gazed absently at the river. "I had a son." Her heart clenched at the use of the past tense. _It must be a cruel fate…to lose your child. Nobody deserves that. _

"What happened to him?" Her curiosity won out; she only hoped he did not see it as rude to ask. In her mind, she logically understood that his son may very well be dead and long gone from this world. In her heart, she desperately prayed it wasn't true, that there was some window of hope.

The man's tongue slipped out, licking along his lips. Without looking her way, he sighed raggedly.

"I lost him." Three words, filled with enough anguish to send tendrils of sympathy slithering across her heart. A cold chill seeped into her bones. _Nobody deserves that. _

"I'm sorry," she said quietly, lips trembling. It was the only reasonable thing she could think of to say. Other questions purged her mind. Did Mr. Gold have a son? Was that why he came across as lonely and reserved, at least to her?

The child kicked her hand again—a sure sign of life—as the mysterious man got to his feet. Gazing down at her, he offered a reply to her condolences.

"So am I."

* * *

><p>It was starting to rain. Beating hard against the windows and dripping like tears across the glass. Thunder rolled, as monstrous as the dull beating of a heart.<p>

It was the first thing Mary Margaret registered when she woke up in bed. Groggy, she turned over and found the clock on her bedside table. It was nearly midnight.

Something had woken her from the dream. Then she heard it. A soft rapping on the door, slightly drowned out by the rumble of thunder overhead. _Who would be knocking on the door at midnight? And in the pouring rain? _

Wrapping a robe around her body, she made her way to the door. A thin chill skated across her skin, giving her goose-bumps. It was such a cold night.

The visitor was none other than Mr. Gold. Mary Margaret studied him in surprise, thinking perhaps her strange dream conjured his presence. He was the last person she had expected to see knocking on her door at midnight. If anything, she had figured it would be David.

And Mr. Gold…was an odd sight tonight. Usually flawless and collective, there were splatters of mud on the cuffs of his suit. Dirt was caked on his shoes. And the expression on his lined face…it was one of pure anxiety and ache.

"Don't tell me you're here for the rent," she lightly quipped, leaning tiredly against the doorframe. Mr. Gold's face remained blank, his body tense. His fingers gripped his cane so tightly, she thought it might break. "Mr. Gold…what are you doing here so late?"

Cloudy and far-off, his brown eyes gradually rose to meet hers. For a brief moment, there was raw pain flashing there. It reminded her of the desperate anguish that existed in the mysterious man's voice in her dreams.

"Mary Margaret," came the silky greeting. Beneath it was longing. Mary Margaret straightened, frowning. Something was bothering him. "I…found myself in the neighborhood. Thought I'd stop by…" His words trailed off, his lips pressing into a thin line.

Mary Margaret gazed at him sympathetically; the poor man was obviously hurting for some reason. Never had she seen him so hard-pressed for words. It was almost as if he were struggling through a wave of agony.

"Please…come in. Quiet, though—Emma's still sleeping," Mary Margaret advised him, ushering him in. Mr. Gold smiled weakly as she closed the door behind him. _Thank goodness for the thunder. I'm not sure Emma would be happy to see Mr. Gold here at midnight. _

"How motherly of you," he remarked, taking a seat at the kitchen table. Mary Margaret busied herself with preparing a cup of cocoa for him. It might just help soothe his nerves.

"Sometimes…I just feel this sense of protection and care for her. Maybe Henry's right. Maybe I am her mother," Mary Margaret replied and then offered a soft, embarrassed laugh. "You think I'd remember that. Besides, she's almost my age."

Mr. Gold nodded and made to lift his leg.

"Do you mind?" Mary Margaret grabbed down two mugs from a cupboard and glanced over her shoulder to see him pointing to a chair across from him. She shook her head—she'd just clean up tomorrow. Mr. Gold propped his bad leg on the chair and sighed.

"Is your leg hurting you?" Mary Margaret located the cinnamon, her green eyes barely wandering from the pawnbroker. Her lips became pinched with concern. Mr. Gold held up a hand to calm her.

"Rain does me no good," he murmured, rubbing his leg. Mary Margaret wanted so much to help him, to ease his pain. She just wasn't sure how to do that. "But I'll live." To her ears, he sounded almost disappointed and solemn. _What has happened to make this man hurt so much? A lost son? _

Steam whistled out of the kettle and Mary Margaret hurried to catch it. She mixed together two cups of cocoa with cream and even added little marshmallows. Her cocoa was sprinkled with cinnamon, but she wasn't sure if Mr. Gold liked it so she simply carried the cinnamon with her.

Smiling, she set his cup in front of him and took the seat beside him.

"I wasn't sure whether you liked cinnamon. I can't drink hot cocoa without it," she admitted, sipping the chocolaty drink. It warmed her insides and danced on her tongue. _Oh, this is so good. I think I missed this the most while I was sitting in that cell, _she thought, savoring another small sip.

"Perhaps I'll try some," Mr. Gold said as he brought the mug of cocoa into his hands.

Carefully, he tipped the bottle of cinnamon over his drink and it snowed down into his drink. Mary Margaret watched with anticipation as the mug rose to his lips and he tested it. For a long moment it was silent, with only the rolls of thunder beating down over their heads. Finally, Mr. Gold's eyes lifted to her, the corners of his mouth rising gently.

"I must say, you have fine taste," he complimented her, taking another generous swallow of his drink. Mary Margaret smiled, her cheeks growing rosy with color. For some reason, she thought of David then. _He _enjoyed cinnamon and hot cocoa, too. Where was he tonight?

Smile fading, Mary Margaret set her cup on the table with a firm clunk. Her finger traced the creamy rim of the cup as her eyes wandered to the bay window where she last looked down upon David.

"I have fine taste with drinks and cooking…but not much else," she muttered, shoulder slumping forward as she recalled David's betrayal. _I always believed in you…why is it so hard for you to believe in me? _

She was unaware of the tear that rolled across her skin until Mr. Gold's hand brushed it away for her. Sniffling, Mary Margaret laughed weakly. Part of her mind noticed that Mr. Gold's hand was still grazing her skin; the other part of her mind liked it.

"I disagree," Mr. Gold told her, tilting his head forward. His brown hair, damp from the rain, cascaded along his face. "Otherwise, that intimate scene in my shop would never have happened." Mary Margaret burst out laughing, having not expected that turn of the conversation.

He never needed to explain which intimate scene—there had only really been one that jumped to the front of her mind. _Kissing her…wrapping his arms around her waist…whispering in her ear…_

_Wait. _Mary Margaret recognized this trick.

"I know what you're doing," she stated, pointing a steady finger at him.

A knowing smile crossed her lips as lightning flashed through the windows, illuminating the room in a brief blue glow. Mr. Gold arched an inquisitive eyebrow and set his cup of cocoa on the table next to hers.

"Enlighten me." He threaded his fingers together and waited. Mary Margaret shook her head lightly—how many times had she used this tactic herself whilst battling some internal hurt? _Maybe we're not so different after all. _

"You are deflecting. You're directing the focus away from yourself to avoid bringing attention to your hurt. By focusing on other matters, you can almost convince yourself the pain is gone, that you don't have to deal with it. But that's the thing. The pain won't die until you face it," she explained, tucking a leg underneath her and leaning forward. Mr. Gold was silent a long time, but she could see the emotions waging war inside him. "Why not try being honest with yourself…instead of running away?"

"Mary Margaret…have you ever attended therapy?" Mary Margaret's sincere expression crumbled, her brow furrowing. Was he calling her insane? Was he insisting she had issues? Throat dry—maybe she had said too much—she shook her head again.

"No, I don't go to therapy. I never have," she assured him, her voice breaking slightly. Had she said something wrong? Odd? "Why…why do you ask?" Mary Margaret lowered her eyes, biting her lip tentatively as she awaited his response. _Because you might want to consider it. Because you're insane. Because you have emotional problems. Oh, please…don't tell me that. _

"Because you sound like Dr. Hopper," he advised her. She breathed a sigh of relief. That was it? And it was true—she just had herself an Archie moment.

"Maybe Archie is right. What happened to you tonight?" Mary Margaret gestured to the mud that caked Mr. Gold's shoes. And they were such nice, expensive shoes, too. He simply stared down at them flatly, his lips thinning into a barely noticeable line. _Confide in me…don't hold it all in. It'll kill you if you do that,_ she thought sadly.

"I thought…I had reconnected with someone tonight. Someone I had lost long ago," he carefully started, curling his hands tensely around the mug. "But he wasn't who I thought he was. I was only seeing what I wanted to see."

His voice was soft, but she could feel the despair as if it were her own. Part of her wanted to reach out and lay a comforting hand on his shoulder, but she knew she had to tread carefully. Something was seriously bothering him tonight, a very sensitive subject that caused her to walk on thin ice.

"Who…who were you hoping to reconnect with?" Mary Margaret watched as Mr. Gold's eyes grew dreamy and his face paled slightly. No longer did he exist in a chair in her kitchen—his mind was elsewhere, somewhere she could not follow.

"My son," he whispered almost inaudibly. Mary Margaret froze as she recalled her dream. _If this is a coincidence, it seems pretty strange. I never even knew he had a son until tonight. _"My son. My son is gone." _You lost him…just like that man in my dreams. The both of you are broken…aren't you? _

In her head, she chose her words delicately. She could not even begin to imagine the pain of losing a child, to have them ripped from your arms and having to live with the frightening, heart-wrenching knowledge that you may never see them again. It was much too cruel a fate. Worse, even, than a broken heart. And if you had suffered both in your lifetime…it was a great burden to bear on your shoulders.

"It wasn't…your fault," she automatically spouted. Mr. Gold seemed to jump back into reality, slamming his mug on the table. Some of the cocoa splattered on the table, the marshmallows swimming in creamy chocolate. Mr. Gold pointed a finger at her, leaning over the table towards her.

"That…that's where you're wrong, dearie. It is no one's fault but mine. I never listened to him…he was right, but I never listened. I broke a promise to him. And then I lost him." Mary Margaret shivered and wrapped her robe tighter around her. This man was sitting next to her, but he was so far away from her touch.

"You can't blame yourself for—"

"I let him go!" Mr. Gold abruptly hissed at her, leaping to his feet. Mary Margaret watched him in shock as he stumbled for a second—his leg must have complained, but he ignored it. His eyes were trained on her and they were sharp. "I was a coward and I let him go. He's not coming back!"

Mary Margaret jumped up to catch Mr. Gold in her arms as he tilted forward, his grief weighing on his shoulders. His head fell onto her shoulder, his muscles rippling under her fingers as his body shook.

"It'll be alright. Somehow, it will," she whispered to him, squeezing her eyes shut with regret. _If there was anything I could do to stop the pain…_"Did you walk here?" Mr. Gold lifted his head and glanced down at his mud-caked shoes.

"Forgive me, Mary Margaret…I've taken up enough of your time," he muttered as he wiped a hand across his stricken face and started for the door. Mary Margaret's heart ached for him and his broken matters. Before he could open the door, she stopped him with a hand on his arm.

"It's pouring out there! And your leg is already bothering you," she pointed out earnestly. Mr. Gold had one hand on the doorknob when he half-turned to question her with his brown eyes. He released a thin breath of air and allowed his hand to fall away from the knob.

"What do you propose, my dear?"

Mary Margaret glanced hesitantly towards Emma's door. It would be difficult to explain in the morning…but what kind of person would she be if she allowed Mr. Gold to manage the walk home in the rain? _A horrible person, that's who. It's something the Mayor would do—telling a person to deal with it. _

"How about if you stay here for the night? You can…share my bed," she suggested and only realized how that sounded after it slipped from her mouth. Mr. Gold grinned suggestively.

"Since you're offering so eagerly…" Mary Margaret gasped as his fingers danced along the small of her back. A pink blush rose to her face. "Relax, dearie. I will stay…but I promise to keep my hands to myself for the time being." She nodded, her throat gone dry of words. Holding a finger to her lips—they must keep quiet—she led him away to her bedroom.

* * *

><p><strong>Ooh, Mary Margaret…it's just like college. Sneaking in a guy overnight. (-; <strong>

**I hope everyone enjoyed this and I appreciated the reviews as well! Gasp! Two more episodes left for this season! What ever shall we do? **

**In any case, thank you everyone for reading!**


	18. Chapter 18

**A/N: Hello, readers! Here is another chapter for you. It took longer to update than I would've liked since I was working on my other OUAT stories. Plus I haven't been feeling good during the past few days (I feel better today, which is why I'm updating like mad for my stories).**

**Enjoy!**

_**Chapter Eighteen**_

_**In The Fairy Tale World That Was…**_

Snow White rounded the bend and walked alongside the river, seeking comfort from the sound of the rushing waters. In her hands was a basket.

She smiled as she approached the waiting dealmaker, even though the memory of that guard still haunted her mind.

As his eyes latched onto the basket, Rumpelstiltskin sat up straighter on the boulder, tenting his fingers beneath his chin. His eyes widened with curiosity as she calmly settled on the shore of the river. She wasn't completely open around him, but her level of uneasiness was slowly diminishing.

"Ooh…and what have we here? A token of gratitude? Dearie, you shouldn't have," he said, folding his hands over his legs. Snow paused, the smile slipping.

"Gratitude?"

"Of course. If not for me, that pathetic guard would have spilled your little secret to your beloved Charming. Oh, dear. I was doing you a favor."

Snow occupied her mind with retrieving a bit of food from the basket—sandwiches and a slice of cake for dessert. She was mostly craving that treat—she found out she had a bit of a sweet tooth as this pregnancy carried on.

"Charming…is sending his men out to search for that guard," Snow murmured. She knew it would be a hopeless cause and that the search would turn up empty-handed unless they somehow checked Rumpelstiltskin's boots for remains of a snail.

Rumpelstiltskin released a shrill giggle at this piece of news.

"He can look all he wants. He'll never find him now," he taunted, leaping up from the boulder.

Snow's stomach turned. She was losing her appetite quickly. Images of a crushed snail swarmed her head. _All this…for a child. Is it even worth it? _

A ripple of tension traveled through her abdomen and Snow squeezed her eyes shut. The tremor shook through her and she bent at the waist, breathing air slowly through her lips. The pain was coming much more frequently lately—she figured it was a side effect of the potion. The child was growing too rapidly for her body to handle.

Rumpelstiltskin knelt on the ground before her and gripped her chin. He urged her to look at him. His face was strangely serious as he seemed to examine her.

"You're in pain," he stated instead of questioning her. Snow nodded slightly and rubbed a hand across her abdomen to try to ease it.

"It's…cramps. I can barely…breathe when it happens," she gasped. Her throat was on fire, wetness burned her eyelids, and her fingers clenched the fabric over her belly desperately. _If this continues…either the baby or I will end up severely hurt. _

Rumpelstiltskin seemed to understand this, too. Carefully, he released her chin and stood, scrambling through his pockets for something.

"I have just the thing that will help," he told her. Snow rocked back and forth, breathing through the discomfort. "A-ha!" The dealmaker pulled out a gold necklace, letting it swing loosely from his fingers.

"A..a necklace? How will…that help me?" Snow's voice was a whisper, but she knew he would still hear perfectly. Once again, he knelt close to her and clasped the necklace around her neck. Almost instantly, the burning slipped away and the pain faded.

"It's not just a_ny_ necklace, dearie. This one will protect you and your child," he explained, tracing the necklace from where it hung on her throat. There was longing in his eyes—she recognized it as the same longing Charming held for her.

"This belonged to someone else, didn't it? Someone you cared about," she surmised. There was no answer from him except for the pain in his golden eyes. And he was simply giving this to her when it could be the last belonging to remind him of his lost love. "Thank you…but I can't—"

Snow made to unclasp the necklace, but Rumpelstiltskin's hands caught her own, stopping her.

"Trust me, dearie…your life depends on it." A shiver slid down Snow's spine at the haunting words. If she refused the necklace and carried through the pregnancy…_I'll die upon giving birth. Just like my mother. _

Snow let the necklace fall free again over her skin.

"Thank you," she whispered. She tried to imagine the dealmaker's true love; everyone must have one, right?

Rumpelstiltskin returned to his familiar self rather quickly. He pointed a finger towards her.

"Wear it always," he demanded her and she nodded. His fingers then brushed along her jaw and swept some of her dark hair aside. "My lovely Snow…"

* * *

><p>He awoke with the sunlight and momentarily forgot that he was lying atop Mary Margaret's bed. Lying there with his arm curled around her while her dark head snuggled into his side.<p>

He had been dreaming about the river again and it was Snow White's name that lingered on his lips. _My lovely Snow…_

Briefly, his eyes flickered to the clock on the bedside table. It was almost seven. He drew in a quiet breath, listening to the silence of the apartment. Emma clearly wasn't awake yet. That was good—he'd be able to sneak out.

Ever so carefully, he lifted his fingers off Mary Margaret's skin and removed his hand. Without much sound, he stood and made his way out of her room. The kitchen was clear, all except their mugs that had been left on the table. He would leave Mary Margaret to explain that.

His hand found the doorknob and—

"Leaving so soon?" Emma's cold voice came from behind him. Arms crossed, lips shaped in an angry frown. She was wearing her traditional leather jacket and jeans that were so skinny, they'd suffocate a supermodel.

"Emma," he drawled, turning towards her. "How lovely to see you up and about. Tell me: how are you faring with Mrs. Nolan?" Emma shoved her body off the doorframe and looked ready to strike him.

"Don't change the subject. What the hell are you doing here? And in Mary Margaret's bed?" Gold smiled in the way that always unsettled Emma Swan. It didn't fail today, either—she averted her gaze rather quickly.

"Ms. Blanchard invited me to stay. Previously I was sleeping. And now I'm intending to leave," he explained, edging the door open.

It was then that Mary Margaret chose that wonderful moment to wander out of her room, yawning with sleepiness. Her green eyes opened and then widened as she witnessed the scene before her. Mr. Gold nearly cursed under his breath.

"Oh," she murmured, blushing. Emma spun around, eyes fiery.

"Yeah…_oh," _she repeated. "We need to talk." Mary Margaret nodded, but never took her eyes from Mr. Gold. His gaze remained on the ground—he was probably wishing he could disappear and avoid this confrontation.

"I'll give you two your time alone then," he muttered, slipping out the door before Emma could protest. The door banged closed and Emma stared at Mary Margaret, waiting for answers.

"Mary Margaret…what is going on?" There was a note in Emma's voice that warned Mary Margaret to tell her the truth. She sighed, crossing to the fridge to get something to drink. _At least the rain stopped. _

"Nothing happened last night, Emma. He came over for some comfort," she started, recalling the way Mr. Gold held onto her desperately while mourning over his son. Emma dropped her hands in disbelief.

"Right. He really wanted some comfort. This is Mr. Gold we're talking about," she reminded her. Mary Margaret sipped some juice and shrugged.

"Emma, he was hurt last night. He needed someone to talk to. And he came to me. It was pouring out and I couldn't just let him walk home with his leg…so I let him stay here for the night. But nothing happened—we fell asleep almost instantly. Or at least I did."

Emma's eyes narrowed and Mary Margaret could tell she was using her 'super power'. After a long moment of scrutiny, Emma backed off.

"Just be careful around him, Mary. I don't want you falling into whatever twisted scheme is crowding his mind. And there is always one with him."

Emma picked up her keys and mumbled something about having to go to the station. She gave Mary Margaret one last meaningful look and vanished out the door.

Mary Margaret brushed a hand through her dark hair and sighed. _Why does finding love have to be so complicated? _

* * *

><p>It was the shunning all over again.<p>

Mary Margaret entered the diner and immediately everyone went silent. The chatter died, forks paused on plates, food hung halfway to the mouths that would consume them. It was an uncomfortable silence—the kind of silence that only came when everyone in a room was talking about you.

Blushing, she ignored the crowd and forced a smile as she walked up to Ruby behind the bar. Gradually, a low mumble of talk started again.

"Hello, Ruby. I would order, but you can probably guess what I'm having," she said lightly. Ruby knew every order in Storybrooke. Only…today the waitress wasn't her smiling, energetic self. Her dark eyes sparked as they met Mary Margaret's.

"Oh, I'm sure I could guess," she shot back, rushing away with a coffeepot to give refills. Mary Margaret frowned, puzzled as to what was wrong. Ruby returned, but barely glanced at her. Whatever was wrong, Ruby was upset.

"Ruby? Did I say something?" A few orders came in and Ruby heaped up the steaming plates to deliver them. Mary Margaret was acutely aware of the chatter now and wished she could decipher one string of conversation. _What has got everyone so worked up today? _

"I'm sure you didn't say anything, Mary. But on terms of what you _did, _now that's a different matter," Ruby barked as she flitted away to drop the plates on their rightful tables. Ruby paused to study Mary Margaret's face. "You really haven't seen it?"

"Seen w_hat?" _Mary Margaret slammed her hands on the bar in frustration. She had no clue what was going on, but she was desperate to piece it together. Ruby's face softened and a pitiful look dwindled there.

Pursing her lips, Ruby snatched up a copy of _The Mirror_ from one of the guys at the bar and laid it upside-down on the counter. Mary Margaret eyed the back of the newspaper, but there were only small ads and articles.

"What am I supposed to be reading?" Ruby focused on her nails, biting her lip as she did so.

With a finger, she motioned for Mary Margaret to flip it over to the front page. Mary Margaret did and she gasped, slapping the paper back down. _Oh, my…and everyone in town has seen this…_

"Yep, that about covers it. You could have at least filled _me _in! Mary, I'm your friend—do you honestly think I'd spread that around?" Ruby seemed hurt that Mary Margaret hadn't confided in her. The chatter suddenly grew to be almost deafening, mocking her.

Slowly, Mary Margaret flipped the paper over again. Her lips trembled as she forced herself to gaze at the page.

And there, enlarged underneath the headlines, was a photo of her, half-naked on top of a display case in the pawnshop…in Mr. Gold's arms.

* * *

><p><strong>That's Regina again, always tearing everything apart for Mary Margaret. <strong>

**Well, I hope everyone enjoyed the chapter! A few more days until the OUAT finale—I simply cannot wait any longer! Why can't it be Sunday? **

**Also, I'd like to thank those that are taking the time to read and review my story. It means a lot to hear what the readers think. **

**And I have a new story up for this archive called "Of Dreams and Regrets." It's a Dark Snow/Rumpel fic. Feel free to check it out. **

**Two more days…two more days…**


	19. Chapter 19

_**A/N: My goodness, I haven't updated for this story since before the finale! Well, there is good news: this is something of a long chapter to make up for the wait. **_

_**I hope you all enjoy it. **_

* * *

><p><em><strong>Chapter Nineteen<strong>_

Up until that morning, Mary Margaret could never recall a time that she had been irrationally angry. There were times she had been frustrated, but she was often a good-natured, clear-headed woman.

Up until that morning, of course. And right now, as she burst into the Mayor's office with the most recent copy of _The Mirror_ crumpled in her hand, Mary Margaret was beyond irrationally angry. She was livid.

The Mayor was doing some sort of paperwork at her desk when Mary Margaret strode in. She glanced up with a poised smirk, her face not betraying any surprise to see Mary Margaret in her office. As if she had been expecting it all along.

"Miss Blanchard. You're the last person I expected to see storming in here. Time in the jail cell has done wonders on your…_innocence,_ hasn't it?" Mary Margaret slapped the paper down on the desk, that awful picture face-up for the Mayor.

"What did I do? What have I ever done to you to deserve this?" Mary Margaret's voice was raw and strained, her hands quivering as she gripped the edge of the desk. Regina barely blinked as her dark eyes examined the photo.

"Well, it seems Sydney Glass has an intriguing sense of humor. Maybe you should be taking your anger out on him, Miss Blanchard," Regina replied coolly, folding her hands atop the photo. Mary Margaret's face grew red with anger and she shook her head.

"Enough! Madame Mayor, I know the type of person you are. The type with a terrible hole in her heart, who only finds happiness in watching others suffer. You had Sydney follow me after I was released. I deserve to know why you insist on doing this to me!"

Abruptly, Regina jolted up from her seat, leaning over the desk to glare piercingly into Mary Margaret's face. Mary Margaret did not flinch—the Mayor was done inflicting her reign of terror over her.

"_Deserve? _You don't deserve anything but punishment for what you've done. Everyone needs to pay the price for their wrongdoings. What do you think makes you so special?" Regina spat the words viciously at her through gritted teeth.

"What did I do to you?" Mary Margaret's mind was warbling with confusion. What had she ever done to earn such hatred from the Mayor? They had never even spoken unless it concerned Henry's academic standing, a job now lost to her. "Is this about Henry?"

Regina's lip curled in a sneer, her raven hair nearly bristling like an angry Chihuahua.

"This has nothing to do with my son! It doesn't even matter because you've ruined what little happiness I held! Nobody thinks you're an innocent schoolteacher anymore—I've helped them see the truth."

Mary Margaret shook her head pitifully. It was bad enough that Regina sought happiness from evoking the suffering of others, but the Mayor actually believed she was in the right.

"Then why don't you start telling these people the truth, Regina? Or do I have to be the one to tell them? Tell them how you organized Kathryn's disappearance, framed me for her murder, and gave your citizens false hope—"

Regina's hand cut off Mary Margaret's words as it circled around her neck, squeezing enough to make her gasp for air. The Mayor's cold, merciless eyes were inches away now, sparkling with fury.

"Are you threatening me, you little tramp?" Regina squeezed tighter and tighter, her grip like iron, Mary Margaret choking for air, her fingers desperately scrabbling over Regina's flawless skin…

"Regina," a voice hissed, brimming with warning and power.

Mr. Gold observed the scene from a few feet behind Mary Margaret; neither of them had even noticed his entrance. A watery tear slid down Mary Margaret's cheek as she tried to catch a glimpse of him from the corner of her eye.

"Ah, Mr. Gold. I was just discussing your latest activities with our town's little celebrity. Or shall I say tragedy?" Regina's nails dug into Mary Margaret's delicate skin and the room spun with black spots.

"I suggest you let the girl go. Your rage has been burden enough," he demanded in a tone that would not take 'no' for an answer. Mary Margaret's legs were growing weak as Regina glared at Mr. Gold.

"No, I don't think I will," she retorted icily and Mary Margaret gasped again as her nails made crescent moons in her neck. Any tighter and she would surely draw blood. _Please…please…_

"Please," Mr. Gold added, as if reading her mind.

Regina's body stiffened, hatred emanating off her. In one swift movement, she released Mary Margaret and shoved her away. Mary Margaret would have fallen, if not for Mr. Gold's hand steadying her back.

"Get out. Both of you," Regina ordered, lowering gracefully into her seat. Mr. Gold ignored her request, instead taking one of the seats before the Mayor's desk. Mary Margaret did the same, relieved to be off her shaky feet.

"Actually, I have a few negotiable terms which I'm sure you'll be eager to oblige…Madame Mayor," Mr. Gold hinted, helping himself to a fresh, red apple from the bowl on her desk. Mary Margaret noticed that he did not bring it to his lips, only bounced it in his palm.

"And what would these terms be…Gold?" Regina's eyes flickered to Mary Margaret for a fraction of a second, as if she were not included in some inside joke between them. Mr. Gold set the apple on the desk and pointed a finger at Regina.

"Firstly, you will refrain from advertising anything personal or demeaning in _The Mirror _again, at least where our lovely Miss Blanchard is concerned. You will repeat this condition to Sydney Glass, as he is to follow it quite the same…_please." _

The Mayor hardly said a word, but Mary Margaret had the suspicion that she did not have much choice in the matter. And after nearly being strangled, Mary Margaret didn't think she'd interrupt Mr. Gold.

"Secondly, you will stay away from Miss Blanchard and you will not do anything to incriminate her or harm her again…_please." _Clearly, that was the magic word that bound Regina. She drummed her nails impatiently on her desk.

"Is that all?" Regina sounded ready to sweep them out the door. Fresh air did sound pretty good to Mary Margaret.

Mr. Gold's slender fingers lifted away from the apple and he smiled, standing to tower over Regina. It was a battle of power, and Mary Margaret was certain Mr. Gold was in the lead.

"That will about do it…for now." Gold extended a hand to help Mary Margaret to her feet and guided her calmly to the door. Mary Margaret could feel Regina's glare the whole way.

Once outside, Mary Margaret sucked in generous mouthfuls of air. Her lungs burned, her neck was sore, and her skin was red from where Regina had grabbed her.

"Thank you," she whispered. Mr. Gold was quiet in his incentive way, but she knew the gratitude was not lost on him.

For a long minute, she allowed him to comfort her, his hand stroking the back of her head. Her heart raced wildly in her chest. _For so long, I thought only David could drive me that crazy, that only he would be stuck inside my head. He's hardly been the one on my mind lately. _

"If I didn't know any better, I'd say you just defended my honor," she teased the man before her, the one whose hooks were buried as deep as his fingers through her hair. A light smile quirked his lips, the kind she realized made her nerves tremble with excitement.

"Perhaps your honor was in need of defending," he replied. Slowly he drew his hand from her hair. "Back to work, dearie. This business will blow over soon enough." Together, they walked in the direction of his pawn shop. _I truly hope so. _

* * *

><p><em>In The Fairy Tale World That Was…<em>

The forest was quiet, not even the birds chirping as they so often did. It might as well have been the calm before the storm, with the Queen's threat drawing ever closer. It vibrated in the air, something terrible lingering in the fringes of their world and soon to crash down upon them.

Snow White strolled through the peaceful garden of their castle, though her mind was anything but at ease. One of her hands soothingly rubbed across her growing bump, the baby kicking forcefully against her palm. At least the pains had stopped, thanks to the necklace Rumpelstiltskin had enchanted for her.

"No sign of that guard yet," Charming announced as he joined her side on the path. Snow picked a fresh rose from the vines and twirled it in her fingers. "Everyone believes him dead." _He is dead, _Snow thought with a pang of guilt. _And it is no one's fault but my own. _

Snow did not say anything aloud. Instead, she simply held the rose beneath her nose and inhaled the sweet scent while the light breeze tickled her skin. Charming was watching her—not with suspicion, but with worry. His strong hands reach out to cradle her back.

"That baby is already so big. You watch, Snow—it will be a healthy son," Charming said, kissing her cheek. Snow turned her head to him, green eyes questioning him.

"How are you so sure it will be a boy? I am the one carrying _her. _Our child will be a beautiful girl, I know it," she argued, smiling as she felt the baby kick again. Of course it would be a girl—that was what she had asked for.

"Well, I've never seen one grow so fast. It's almost as if it were…"

Charming paused and Snow became tense under his touch. He released her and stepped in front of her to catch her eye. Snow gazed down at the flower in her hand.

"Almost as if it were…magic," Charming finished, the wheels in his head turning. Snow closed her eyes solemnly and, in that instant, Charming realized the truth. "Snow…you didn't…"

Snow did not open her eyes, but she felt Charming's hands settle on her arms, pulling her close to his body. Slowly, she opened her eyes to see the surprise, fear, and understanding written on his face.

"Snow, tell me you did not go to _him_," Charming pleaded, though he must have known the answer already. She broke, her lip quivering and the flower drooping across her skin.

"We wanted a child—"

"Not like this! There's always a price with him, you know that! Snow, what did you promise him?" Snow lowered her head against Charming's chest, her dark hair flowing like a curtain around her face. "Is it something…to do with our child?"

"No," Snow immediately lifted her head. "Ella has already promised her child to him; he has no use of mine. At least, that is what I believe," she said firmly. The minute she tried to explain further, only silence came out. "I…can't tell you."

Charming gazed thoughtfully down at her, brushing a hand along her dark hair.

"Snow, whatever it is…no matter how desolate, we can find a way through this together—" Snow's lips thinned anxiously and she averted her eyes from him.

"Charming, I _want_ to tell you. But the contract prevents me from speaking a word about my deal with him," she explained. Charming's blue eyes glimmered with worry for her.

"Snow…you've been unable to sleep lately. Have you been meeting with him? Where do you meet him, Snow? Tell me and then this could end." She stayed silent and his eyes filled with disappointment. "You really can't tell me…can you?" Snow shook her head miserably.

"You don't know how many times I've tried to tell you…but it's impossible for me to speak of it. As far as you're concerned, I'm mute," she told him, smoothing her fingers over his clothing.

It was then that a light dawned in her mind. _Contracts always have loopholes. Maybe…just maybe… _

"Snow? What's wrong?" She glanced up at Charming with a growing, hopeful smile.

"Even mutes can draw a picture," she whispered, hurrying across the path to fetch a long stick off the ground. Charming followed, his blue eyes sparkling with hope.

"The deal…does it prevent you from _drawing _anything?" Snow shrugged as she slowly bent forward to trace the stick along the dirt. Charming supported her with a hand.

"There's only one way to find out," she said as she began to draw lines in the dirt. They were a set of waves and Charming's brow furrowed as he attempted to translate her message.

"Hmm…waves? Water?" Snow tapped the lines again, hopelessly mute. His eyes widened as a memory from long ago resurfaced in his mind. "The river?" Snow pointed frantically at him as if to say _you've got it. _"You meet him by the river. What of the missing guard?"

Snow bent forward to drag the stick through the dirt again until he was looking at a cute image of a snail. Charming's stomach twisted in knots as his mind offered the mental component of the scenario.

"The guard was with you…when you couldn't sleep one night. One of the nights you were supposed to meet him. And that imp…turned him into a snail," Charming guessed, earning another pointing finger. "And then…?"

Frowning, Snow lifted one of her feet and stomped down on the picture of the snail. In his mind, he could picture it: the crushing of the snail, the sickening crunch and splatter of blood. Misery and guilt swarmed Snow's green eyes and he pulled her close, stroking her hair.

"Snow, listen to me. It is _not _your fault. You couldn't break your deal with him. This…this was all his doing," he breathed into her ear as a tear soaked into his shoulder. "And I suppose you'd rather I don't attend this next meeting?"

"No," Snow begged him, placing her hands on his face. "I don't want to risk losing you, too. You don't know what he's capable of. His power…even the Queen could not best it." Charming nodded and urged her head onto his shoulder once more.

"Snow, we'll find a way through this. This power of his has to end. I promise…we'll find a way."

* * *

><p>Mary Margaret fell into the routine of her job as if she had never left. Dreamily, she dusted and arranged, all the while reminiscing about her encounter with the Mayor and her heated activities with Mr. Gold on <em>that display case. <em>The latter stayed on her mind the longest.

Today, she was drawn to the glass unicorn mobile hanging over one of the cases. The way the delicate figures made a silvery trill whenever they clinked together, the way they shined in the sunlight and cast rainbows over the floor…

She had the sudden urge to touch one of the unicorns.

Reaching out a finger, Mary Margaret gently caressed a glass unicorn. Her green eyes flew wide and the breath halted in her throat. Without warning, the shop was no longer there—her mind was bombarded with…memories? Yes, they must be.

_We want nothing from you…but you shall have it…the most painful of afflictions…haven't slept since the wedding…let me speak to him…reason he's locked up…can you ensure the safety of our child? Because he can! _

It was all too much to bear.

The next thing Mary Margaret was aware of was her cheek pressed to the hardwood floor, her head throbbing while her eyes hopelessly rolled in their sockets. Slowly, awareness seeped back in as she felt firm hands roll her over onto her back.

"Mary Margaret," that rich voice stirred her awake and for a moment she saw that man from her dreams gazing gleefully down at her. But no—it was only Mr. Gold, whose brown eyes were not filled with glee, but with marring concern.

"What…what happened?" She was trembling, her body weak even as she tried to sit up. Mr. Gold put a supportive hand underneath her back.

"Quite the mystery, dearie. Sleeping on the job?" Mary Margaret eased her head off the floor and craned her neck to gaze up at the unicorn mobile.

"The last thing I remember was dusting…and I had been looking at the unicorn mobile and…" The rest trailed off as she recalled those strange memories. This was the first time they had occurred outside of a dream.

Mr. Gold's eyes followed her gaze to the mobile with its swaying glass figures, his face darkening. His grip tightened slightly, tensely.

"And?" Mary Margaret glanced back at him, wondering if she should tell him what was going on inside her mind. Maybe it would help to voice her concerns.

"Have you ever had strange dreams? Dreams that felt so real they could be…" Mr. Gold's face was unreadable as he listened patiently to her. Did he think her crazy or silly for such notions? Any other person probably would. Slowly, his lips parted.

"Memories of another life?" He finished for her.

Abruptly, Mary Margaret shot up despite the dizziness and inched closer to him. Her green eyes sparkled with excitement and he loved every second they shined for him.

"Yes, exactly! So…I'm not the only one?" Her soft voice overflowed with hope as her legs brushed his. His fingers lightly rose to caress her jaw, sending a tingle down her neck.

"No, I think not. I recall the late Sheriff Graham mentioning odd dreams right before his untimely death. They say that is what dreams are: memories of another life. The question is, Mary Margaret, what you dream of."

Oh, how she wanted to tell him, to confide in him about those dreams that often featured a river and a magical man. A man who closely resembled Mr. Gold himself. Would he be surprised to realize the inhabitant of her dreams?

"It's silly, really," she whispered nervously, lowering her eyes to her pale hands, folded in her lap. One of Mr. Gold's hands caught her chin and lifted her face to his.

"Try me," he challenged her, so close that his breath warmed her skin. Mary Margaret felt that weight leave her shoulders as she smiled. Only one syllable slipped from her lips.

"You."

It seemed an eternity as she waited for his response. His brown eyes burned into hers and she could have sworn they almost held that mystical golden hue in the sunlight. With the rapid beating of her heart, he smiled, his fingers stroking her chin.

"Yes, I thought you might." Before she could choke out a reasonable response, his lips pressed against hers and trapped her in a heady kiss.

The effect was dizzying—all logic flying out the window as she returned her kiss. Snaking an arm around her waist, Mr. Gold urged her to the floor, the kiss never breaking as his body covered hers. Mary Margaret curved her leg around his back as his lips trailed down her neck.

And to think that they were doing this on the floor of his shop….

"Wait," she paused, pressing one hand against his chest. Eyes filled with lust, he gazed down at her questioningly. "We can't."

"We can," he answered immediately, dipping his head close to her ear. He laid a kiss on her skin and she sighed with pleasure.

Lower and lower his mouth went until his breath lingered just above the first button of her shirt. A kiss on her chest, where her heart fluttered like a butterfly's wings.

"Remember what happened last time we did this?" Mary Margaret's head rolled back and she read the shop's sign upside-down—the word 'Closed' was visible.

"Let them watch," he boldly retorted and she had to smile weakly. It wasn't like they were being dishonest anymore. Mary Margaret decided to throw her worries away and bask in the pleasure that Mr. Gold stimulated in her.

Her fingers seemed to have a life of their own, weaving through the strands of his hair as her shirt was pushed upwards, exposing her thin stomach. The way his hands slipped across her skin reminded her of the magical being in her dreams, but she didn't mind. It felt good to feel his lips there, as if waiting to feel the tell-tale kick of a child.

Mary Margaret's green eyes were closed in bliss, never wanting this moment to end…

The shop's bell chimed and Mary Margaret gasped. Startled, she leaped up, her knee nearly clipping Mr. Gold across the jaw. Though sprawled on the floor, at least they weren't sprawled on top of each other.

Mary Margaret glanced up at the customer's face…and her heart plummeted. It was David, of all people. And from the shocked expression on his face, he'd seen plenty.

"Oh…uh, was I interrupting something?" He averted his crystal blue eyes as Mary Margaret and Mr. Gold got to their feet. Mary Margaret blushed.

"Yes."

"No," she blurted out, at the same time as Mr. Gold. Meaningfully, she cocked an eyebrow at him to which she earned a devilish grin. David seemed uncomfortable. "I fainted and Mr. Gold was helping me up."

If David had been the overly snarky, jealous type, he might have shot back a biting insult.

"Right. How charming of you," he mumbled. Mary Margaret bit her lip nervously while Mr. Gold placed a possessive hand on Mary Margaret's back. "If you're feeling better…could I speak to you, Mary Margaret?"

"You're doing a miraculous job so far, aren't you?" Mr. Gold openly dared. Mary Margaret was certain David's eyes narrowed an inch or so.

"Can I speak to you…_alone?" _David stared at Mary Margaret intently. Sighing, she stepped away from Mr. Gold's touch and led David to the door.

"Five minutes, dearie. Then it's back to…work," Mr. Gold said, emphasis on the last word for David's benefit. Mary Margaret tugged on David's arm to drag him outside before he did something he might regret.

"So, talk," she demanded when they were a few feet from the store. They were standing close to an ice cream shop, though there was hardly anyone there due to the chill in the air.

David stared into the distance; he was choosing his words carefully.

"I saw the paper," he started. She gave a dry laugh.

"_Everyone_ saw the paper, David," she told him. _Get on with it. Say what you must. _It was like he was determined not to look at her, as if he were afraid he would only be haunted by the image of her in Mr. Gold's arms.

"You shouldn't be with someone like him, Mary Margaret," he suddenly argued. There was pain etched into his face, but Mary Margaret ignored it. For the second time that day, her anger rocketed through her veins.

"And I suppose I should be with you?" David paled at the bitterness in her voice. "You weren't there, David! You doubted me while I wasted away in that jail cell. You stopped believing in me and that's when I turned to someone who did believe in me. What did you expect me to do?"

Her anger and hurt poured out in one giant wave and David stumbled back, as if that wave had crashed into him.

"I'm sorry, Mary Margaret," he hastily apologized. He extended a hand to touch her, but she took a step back.

"It's too late, David. You made your choice. For your sake, I hope it was the right one." Mary Margaret darted around him and walked away, back to Mr. Gold's shop. Back to the man that offered her peace of mind.

* * *

><p>Five o'clock came around faster than Mary Margaret had anticipated, all the while giving the unicorn mobile a wide berth. One fainting spell was enough for the day.<p>

It was chilly outside. Mary Margaret wrapped her coat tighter around her as she waited for Mr. Gold to finish locking up. Neither one had mentioned David again; her anger had been explanation enough for that encounter.

Mary Margaret's stomach grumbled. She mentally added it to the list of cravings: food and comfort, currently. _Anything but comfort food. I refuse to eat ice cream on the couch and drown in my tears. _

"Would you…like to get some dinner?" In her mind, she wondered what Mr. Gold did after closing up his shop. The idea of going home to an empty house was rather lonesome. Doubly, since Emma had called and said she was visiting with Kathryn this evening to see if she could remember anything else about her kidnapping.

Mr. Gold turned to her with an expression almost like curiosity.

"Are you sure you want to encourage the town's gossip? You would be seen with _me, _after all." Mary Margaret shrugged carelessly. Tonight, the possibility of gossip did not bother her. She smiled reassuringly. _What more could they say? _

"My reputation is nearly as tarnished as yours by now. And maybe…they should start getting used to the idea. I'm not changing my mind," she declared bravely. Mr. Gold pocketed his keys.

"Your reputation could never be as tarnished as mine, Mary Margaret. And dinner with you sounds too tempting to pass up," he replied, offering her his arm. Smiling, she linked her arm with his as they strolled down the street together.

* * *

><p>Their meeting was held in the drawing room that night. It was small, consisting of only Charming, Snow, Prince Thomas, Ella, and the dwarfs. While Ella rested in a chair, her abdomen greatly extended, Snow cradled her own unborn child as she lingered by the window.<p>

This felt wrong, but nothing would change the minds of those princes.

"Something must be done. Rumpelstiltskin has become too powerful. Both Ella and Snow's children may be at risk," Charming announced, fueling the morale. The dwarfs murmured an agreement.

"Please…Don't let him take my baby," Ella pleaded, reaching out for her husband's hand. Prince Thomas knelt beside her.

"Ella, I promise you—I would rather die than see our infant land in the hands of someone like him. Who knows what he would do with it?" Ella sank her head to his chest.

"We must find a way to imprison him, so that he may not be a danger to anyone else in this land," Charming proclaimed, slamming his fist against the table. Snow winced slightly, but did not turn.

"We can imprison him here, in the dungeons. We'll build a cell for him. Built by dwarf hands, his power will only be restricted in there," Grumpy suggested. In the light of the fire, Charming's blue eyes gleamed.

"That leaves the task of capturing him," Thomas mused, a supportive hand on Ella's shoulder. Soft tears rolled down her face. Snow took no part in the discussion, instead gazing out into the night.

"I believe I may be of help," a sugary voice spoke as a ball of blue whizzed past Snow into the room. It was the Blue Fairy. "You should know that making deals is Rumpelstiltskin's strength…but it is also his weakness."

Charming was considering this, his face thoughtful.

"Alright, how do we use that to our advantage?" The Blue Fairy floated above the table and waved her hand gracefully. A box materialized on the table—inside it, a delicate red quill doused with magic.

"This quill is unlike any other. If Rumpelstiltskin signs with this quill, he will be momentarily trapped, his power rendered useless," she explained as Thomas lifted the quill from the box. "But be forewarned: all magic has its price."

"And how shall we carry it out? Snow is the only one of us who maintains contact with him. If she were to make another deal—"

"No," Snow voiced her first word of the night, if not a little forcefully. "I will not make another deal with him." She turned to face Charming's shocked expression.

"I will," Ella insisted, drying her eyes. "Tell him…I wish to meet with him to discuss our deal. I'll get him to sign with that quill somehow."

Snow nodded weakly. That she could do—spread the word to Rumpelstiltskin. But something about this operation felt off. She couldn't explain it, but it seemed like intuition. _Something will go wrong, I know it. I feel it. _

Charming crossed the room and took Snow by the arms. His blue eyes bore into her green ones.

"Listen, Snow. This is what you must do…"

* * *

><p><em><strong>More good news: I already have the next chapter planned out in my mind. It shouldn't be too long a wait. <strong>_

_**The finale was awesome, if I do say so myself. Of course, I'm going to have to resort to fanfiction to live through the summer in waiting for season 2. **_

_**Also, I want to thank all of those that are reading and reviewing for this story. (-; It means a lot, guys! **_


	20. Chapter 20

_**A/N: So, I know it's been quite a while since I last updated for this story and for that I am truly sorry. However, I hope this chapter will make up for it. It's pretty long, if that counts for anything. **_

_**Enjoy!**_

Snow White hummed as she walked alongside the river. She breathed slowly and deeply, forcing a smile. _You can do this, Snow, _she encouraged herself silently_. It's for the good of everyone. Right?_

Snow settled on the ground before him, smoothing out the fabric of her cloak. Her smile faltered. _'Hold it together, Snow.'_

Nervously she clasped her hands together in her lap.

"Nervous today, aren't we?" Rumpelstiltskin eyed her unsteady hands. Snow buried them further in the folds of her cloak.

"Nervous? Hardly. I was thinking of Cinderella's wedding ball again today," she informed him. Rumpelstiltskin followed her lead, grinning until his sharp teeth were bared to her.

"Ah, yes. The lovely Ella. I would have saved you a dance, but my matters were rather…_precious."_

Snow imagined Cinderella's unborn child, so close to being born into this world. How desperate must she have been to promise this dealmaker such a precious being? Then again, how desperate had Snow been to conceive one?

"That leaves tonight," Rumpelstiltskin announced, breaking through her thoughts. Snow glanced up in puzzlement.

"Tonight?" The imp tilted his head in speculation.

"You certainly are one for repeating things, aren't you? Here is something for you to ponder, then. All I want…is a dance." Snow's heart thudded like a wild set of horses' hooves and her breath caught in her throat. "You refused me last time."

"I'm not sure—" Rumpelstiltskin had already risen from the boulder and extended his hand to her, tempting her.

"Nonsense, dearie. Everyone can dance." Snow gazed up at him dubiously, weighing her options. What was one dance?

Carefully, she placed her hand in his and rose to her feet. His hand was surprisingly smooth, though she knew he was infamous for possessing the ability to spin straw into glistening gold.

Instead of abiding by the traditional dance, he pulled her closer than was appropriate. Snow dug her heels in just out of his reach and he smirked impatiently.

"I'm afraid we're going to have to get a little closer, dearie."

His arm snaked around her waist and urged her forward until she could feel his body against hers, her pregnant belly nestled between them. Under his guidance, she laid her head on his shoulder and he gently rocked her.

It sent a thrill through her body, all the way down to her toes. It made her heart quicken. With her head resting on his shoulder, her eyes drifted closed and she breathed in his earthy scent.

It was comforting and intimate at the same time. Never had she danced with Charming like this.

"Only rogues dare to dance this way," she murmured against the leather of his collar. "Never the royals of the kingdom." His fingers threaded through her hair.

"Be grateful, then, that I am considered a rogue among most royals," he answered back, not without a hint of amusement.

What had she been meaning to tell him? Under the glow of the moon, wrapped in his embrace, it didn't seem so important…Oh, yes. How could she forget?

"Cinderella wishes to meet with you. She wants to discuss the deal you made with her," Snow stated, though she couldn't find the strength to lift her head. There was a heavy pause.

"Oh, does she? Pity. That's not what I do." Snow's muscles tensed—she needed to try harder. Thoughts eluded her mind as she basked in his arms. Why couldn't she think straight?

"What harm could it do to hear her out? Maybe she wants to offer you something more in her deal," Snow suggested, keeping her tone light and oblivious. _Something…like a set of twins and a magical red quill._

"Or she intends to break it. She can try, anyway. And no one ever breaks deals with me," he whispered in her ear. Snow interpreted it as a warning—not just for Cinderella, but for her as well. "Besides, she is hardly the most precious thing in this world."

Snow finally raised her head so as to meet his mystical eyes.

"And what is the most precious thing in this world?"

It was very rare if Rumpelstiltskin showed what little humanity he had left at his disposure. Under the soft beams of moonlight, she could almost see the man he may have been once. As fleeting as a shooting star, it was gone.

She would have expected his answer to be magic. Power. Knowledge. But it was none of those things.

"That," he declared as he released her enough to point to her, "would be you. The fairest of them all." He offered her an elegant bow before closing in on her again.

His hand supported the back of her head as his face lowered to hers. Snow's eyes became half-closed in anticipation as his lips dared to brush hers…

A sharp intake of breath and Snow struggled out of his embrace. Throughout that whole time, Charming never crossed her mind. It scared her that she nearly forgot their love, even for a moment.

"That was not part of our deal," she exclaimed roughly, her voice shaking slightly. Had she really been about to kiss him, Rumpelstiltskin, the all-powerful dark dealmaker?

Rumpelstiltskin merely grinned impishly.

"Indeed it was not. I suppose I should be more specific next time." Snow knew he was enjoying this, enjoying the control he had nearly seized over her. And she knew then: this had to be done.

"Will you meet with Cinderella?" Rumpelstiltskin stalked past her, circled her. What if he refused? Their plan hinged on his willingness to heed their request.

"Oh, why not? I'm feeling rather…generous," he agreed, perching on the boulder as if no time had passed. As if nothing had happened between them. "Name the time and place and we can get down to business."

"Tomorrow night in the gardens," she told him. Rumpelstiltskin flicked his fingers toward her.

"Best run off to your dear Charming. Wouldn't want to keep him waiting all alone in that bed," he mocked her.

Snow studied him crucially—very well the last time she would see him roaming free in the Enchanted Forest—and then heeded his words.

_It needs to be done,_ she thought sternly as she slipped into the forest. Then why did it feel so wrong?

* * *

><p>Rumpelstiltskin watched his white beauty skitter off into the fringes of the forest. In a mere handful of moments, she would return to the warmth and security of Charming's arms. Not his. He didn't want to admit why this bothered him so much, but it did.<p>

Still, there was one other memorable detail of this most recent meeting, besides the dancing.

She had figured it out. Dearest Snow White had figured out the loop in the contract. _Finally._

Perched on that boulder, he simply knew she had told her charming husband and the two were attempting to capture him. Those two were attempting to limit his powers, control him as others had inevitably sought to control previous Dark Ones.

_Oh, Snow…and we were having such fun here by the river. _

Quite expectedly, she'd brought up the topic of Cinderella and her unborn child that he was plotting to procure. It was a trap and an insultingly poor one at that. For one thing, Cinderella was a pitiful liar.

Rumpelstiltskin sighed and rose to his feet. He knew he would humor them and show up to meet Cinderella. It would mean being captured…but it was something that simply needed to happen. And who could tempt fate?

Centuries ago, he'd come to the conclusion that what happened to Bae was purely fate and he could have done nothing to prevent it. Maybe it was to make that ache vanish or so that it would not be his fault. Either way, that was how he imagined it.

Becoming the Dark One, losing his son and therefore his only tie to humanity, creating the curse to end curses…it was his fate.

And if he could someday find Bae again, then fate would be kind. Even kinder if Snow played her role. That's what they all were, anyhow. Pawns on the chessboard, awaiting fate's next move.

It was what needed to happen.

Rumpelstiltskin snapped his fingers and transported to his Dark Castle through a purplish plume of smoke. If he was going to spend the next 28 years without magic, he might as well enjoy it while it lasted.

...

Their dinner consisted of Granny's low-key cooking and a red polyester booth in the corner of the nearly empty diner. It was quiet and familiar—Mary Margaret didn't mind one bit.

She figured that Mr. Gold had opted for the diner so that she would not be overwhelmed by a fake, fancy atmosphere. He obviously wanted her to be comfortable and did not try to impress her with how much he could spend—which, she knew, was generally a lot.

Mary Margaret felt her lips already widening into a relaxed smile, even with the curious stares of the few diner patrons.

As Ruby took their order for drinks—simple coffees for both of them—Mary Margaret found the stares increasingly hard to ignore. She couldn't help wondering what they were talking about and even strained her ears to try and catch a string of conversation.

Were they talking about her and Mr. Gold being together in public? Or were they thinking of her recent activities concerning David?

Then she caught a piece of a muttered insult from Miss Ginger a couple of tables away. _What in the world does she need him for? What can you do with two guys that you can't do with one? _

Mary Margaret blushed and focused on her hands in her lap. They were shaking badly. Maybe this dinner in public wasn't such a good idea. But then…why did she have to apologize to someone like Miss Ginger? Why must she be ashamed?

That was when she realized Mr. Gold had been speaking to her and she'd efficiently tuned him out in her anxiety. The only word she had heard was David.

"Hm?"

Mr. Gold's brown eyes held that sharp, knowing look. Instantly, his gaze flickered to Miss Ginger. Just as quickly, the curly-haired, stony-faced teacher lowered her eyes to her half-eaten food.

Mary Margaret bit her lip as she waited for Mr. Gold to focus on her again. There was always something about the intensity of those mysterious brown eyes that unleashed butterflies in her stomach. Was that a good thing after having slept with him?

"Gossips. They're as savage as wolves," he mused just as Ruby set down their drinks. She didn't know why, but she had the feeling the comment was directed at Ruby.

Ruby quickly left them alone to ponder over the menu. Mary Margaret assumed Ruby just wanted to steer clear of Mr. Gold. Too bad it wasn't rent week—Ruby would have probably prepared a full four-course meal if it meant not having to owe more than was necessary.

_Nothing ever changes on this menu. How odd. What would be a good choice? I certainly don't want to be that much of a burden…_

"What I said was that I hope David Nolan hasn't upset you too much," Mr. Gold clarified as his eyes rolled over the menu. Mary Margaret laid hers aside.

"David hasn't upset me…too much," she admitted, offering a weak smile. The situation with David was just so stressful—it hurt her head and heart every time she thought of him.

"I take it you don't believe he is the right choice anymore." Mary Margaret frowned and played with the gold band on her finger. Touching it always seemed to calm her.

"You said it yourself. The right choice may not be an easy one to make."

Mary Margaret's expression became thoughtful; she wasn't even aware that Mr. Gold had leaned towards her.

"You know, I always used to believe that there was a true love for everyone in the world. After the past few weeks…I don't know if that's true anymore. But then, if it were easy to find, we'd all have it, wouldn't we?"

Mary Margaret laughed dryly at her own naivety, but Mr. Gold did not follow suit. Instead, he studied her almost remorsefully.

"I'm sorry," he whispered. Confusion swept over her. Was he sorry for making her talk about this? For bringing David up?

"For what?" Mr. Gold chose his words carefully, but she waited for them patiently. In all her years of living in Storybrooke and knowing Mr. Gold, she never witnessed him apologize to anyone.

"If anyone deserves to be happy, it's you." Mary Margaret's heart hammered in her chest. Reaching out, she rested her hand on his arm and smiled reassuringly.

"Who says I can't be happy here?"

A silent agreement passed between them to avoid speaking any more about David Nolan. Before she could pull her hand back, Mr. Gold captured it and brought it to his lips.

"Was that for me…or them?" She tilted her head to the select few in the diner. Mr. Gold grinned devilishly.

"Who says it was not meant for both?" And his lips pressed warmly against her skin again. A bright gleam danced in his eyes the next time he glanced up at her. "What do you suppose these good citizens would say if I were to sweep you off your feet and kiss you until you swoon?"

Mary Margaret lightly gasped and then she broke out into laughter. She could only imagine Mr. Gold attempting that with his sore leg. Even then, he'd probably be more graceful than any other person here.

"I think Granny would have another heart attack," she replied between giggles. Mr. Gold gently released her hand and dipped his head in response.

"You have a fair point," he agreed. Mary Margaret was in much better spirits by the time Ruby took their order. She could easily say it was one of the happiest nights she'd ever spent in the past week or so.

As the two of them headed for the door, arm in arm for Storybrooke's citizens, Mr. Gold paused near Miss Ginger's table. Mary Margaret's elated smile slipped. A nervous sensation built up in her stomach. _Here we go…_

"Miss Ginger," he greeted her as if just noticing she was sitting there. "I believe your rent is due this week, is it not?"

Miss Ginger jerked her head up, startled. The teacher had a permanent pouty pinch to her cracked lips.

"Huh?" It was the only syllable Miss Ginger seemed capable of uttering. Mr. Gold gripped his cane tighter and forced his smile to stay in its place on his lips. Mary Margaret could see the lines under his eyes to show he was annoyed.

"Everyone appears to have their head in the clouds today. Rent. This week," he repeated. Miss Ginger nodded frantically, her frizzled hair bouncing. Mary Margaret almost felt bad for her.

"Yes, of course. How could I forget?" Miss Ginger winced as even she registered the snappish tone of her words.

"Indeed. And I'll be tacking on an extra fifty to that, dearie," he declared coolly. Miss Ginger's face turned ashen as the diner's table. Mary Margaret averted her gaze when the teacher's wide eyes strayed to her.

"Fifty? What the hell for?" Mr. Gold's smile finally crumbled away, the cold sharpness of his gaze boring through Miss Ginger.

Mary Margaret realized then that every person was watching them. It was like a rare spectacle that demanded undivided attention. What was more: Mr. Gold was aware and taking advantage of it. He was using Miss Ginger as an example for them all.

"Well, if you must ask that, I may as well add another fifty. Make it a clean hundred. Enjoy your meal," he finished. Miss Ginger disregarded her plate—she looked ready to throw up instead.

The two of them strolled in silence for a few minutes, the scene in the diner sinking into Mary Margaret's mind.

"You didn't have to do that," she finally managed to say. Mr. Gold's attention remained off in the distance, but she knew he was listening.

"I don't know what you mean. I simply found it past time her rent increased. Practically living for free." Mary Margaret slowed to a stop and turned to face him. Even in the dim glow of the streetlight, she could see the way he watched her intently, as if afraid to blink and miss her.

"You did that for me." Mary Margaret arched an eyebrow, daring him to object. He didn't make the effort to deny it again. "Thank you," she whispered.

She peered up at the town clock and saw it was only six. And yet…

"I guess this is where we go separate ways." Mary Margaret heard the disappointment in her voice and she licked her lips as if the trace of it were left there.

It came as no surprise to her…but she was tired of returning to an empty, lonely apartment. Emma was there, but that wasn't the type of comfort she was missing. And David was out of the picture.

"We don't have to," he hinted mischievously. Her breath caught as he gently pulled her closer. His fingers traced the edge of her jaw and then his lips descended over hers.

Mary Margaret moaned as she instinctively drew closer to him. It reminded her of kissing David outside the diner, but this tasted…different. Where David's kiss was sweet, this one was hungry. Mary Margaret cried out as he broke away.

"Your place…or mine?" The question bounded around her head and it took her a minute to formulate an answer.

"Well, you know Emma is staying at my place and she'll be awakened by the slightest sound…most likely with a gun…" She didn't need to say more as Mr. Gold was already drawing her back in.

"My place it is."

* * *

><p>Snow was wide awake as she lay in the safety of Charming's arms, her body tingling from a strangely warm breeze that floated through the window. If it weren't for the weight of the baby, she'd be tossing and turning.<p>

Charming had come home that night with the brightest smile she had ever seen on his face, including the day they were married. He had swept her into his arms and then passionately kissed her until both of them were breathing heavily.

_"Snow,"_ he had whispered her name as if afraid to break whatever magic spell had come over him. _"It is done. Our plan worked. Don't you see? That imp has finally been captured and locked away, never to bother anyone again. You, the baby…you're safe."_

Snow had only the mind to return his embrace as he planted sweet kisses on her neck. It is done, she repeated in her mind.

Now, she lay curled on her side and sensed that there was more to this than they knew. Something was not right.

Was their plan truly a success? Did it mean that Rumpelstiltskin, powerful trickster and dealmaker, no longer had the power to uphold his deals?

A light chirping alerted her as a white dove swooped into the room. A note was tucked into its beak. Her brow furrowed as she gently sat up; it was an odd time of night to be receiving notes. _Unless…_

Snow's heart thudded as the bird landed on the bedside table, tilting its head as if to ask _'What are you waiting for?'_ With trembling hands, Snow retrieved the note and the bird flew off into the night.

Hesitantly, she unrolled the note and her stomach plummeted as she instantly recognized the fine hand. Who else could such an elegant hand belong to?

_'Do not be fooled. No one breaks deals with me.' _

* * *

><p><em><strong>Well, I hope everyone liked it. It was originally going to include more, but I decided to save that for the next chapter. <strong>_

_**I would like to thank all of those that are reading this story and those who have reviewed as well. It always means a lot to hear from the readers!**_


	21. Chapter 21

_**A/N: Hey there, readers! Another quick update for you—I hope you enjoy this one. **_

Mary Margaret could honestly say that she had never seen the inside of Mr. Gold's house before. Come to think of it, she never even noticed that the color of his house was pink, either. _At least it's a nice shade of pink, _she thought modestly as he unlocked the door for her. As she stepped inside, she glanced around curiously.

It was a rather nice house, better than anyone else could afford in Storybrooke. It was almost like a mansion to her, ten times the size of her apartment. _He must be quite lonely here, living alone in this house. _

A shaft of moonlight crept along the floorboards as she wandered to the living room. It was cluttered with antique objects, but she couldn't help examining some of them like a child in a toy store. She figured there just wasn't enough room in the pawnshop for all of it.

Positioned underneath three bay windows was a couch, the kind that made her want to kick off her shoes and curl up. She wasn't aware she had moved until she was smoothing a hand across the velvety soft texture.

Her green eyes gazed out the window at the sprinkling of stars in the sky. In that moment, she decided she liked this house, if only for this enchanting view. Now if only she had a nice cup of hot cocoa…

Just as she thought it, a hand reached around her and offered her a steaming mug of hot chocolate. Gratefully, she accepted it from Mr. Gold and turned to him with a surprised look. She hadn't even noticed that he'd gone off into the kitchen. _He sure has a knack for knowing exactly what a person wants. _

"You must be a mind-reader. Though, I don't suppose it would surprise me," she admitted as she took a sip of the hot cocoa and scalded her tongue in the process. Heat scorched her mouth and she blinked away the wetness in her eyes. He laughed softly behind her.

"I'm not that extraordinary, I assure you. Perhaps I just know you better than you think," he replied. Mary Margaret took slower sips, though her tongue was raw now.

There was the sensation of eyes on her back and she turned to see him leaning up against the wall, watching her intently. She wondered, as the moonlight washed over her skin, what it was about her that fascinated him. Did he gaze that way at her and see a tired woman with too many problems on her plate, someone who should be pitied? Or did he truly find her that mesmerizing?

"What?" She forced a smile and set the mug of cocoa down on a nearby table. She hoped he didn't mind it; there didn't seem to be any coasters around. But, no—he was still scrutinizing her, almost…sadly. Her heart started to flutter. _Oh, no…do I have something stuck in my teeth from dinner? Is my hair messy? _

"Do you realize how beautiful you are?" Mary Margaret was taken aback by his unexpected question. When was the last time someone had honestly called her beautiful? With her choppy black hair and too pale skin and eyes that never seemed to be rid of sadness or loneliness…When Mary Margaret looked in a mirror, she never associated the word 'beautiful' with her reflection.

Her lips trembled with the impact of it all as she stared dubiously at Mr. Gold.

"You think I'm beautiful?" It sounded too flat. Too much like an accusation. Mr. Gold crossed to her and laid his hands firmly on her shoulders. The moonlight made his brown eyes almost glow and it reminded her of the golden shade of the man in her dreams.

"Not just beautiful. You, my dear, are the fairest of them all," he proclaimed, bringing a hand up to caress her face. In the next instant, his lips had descended on hers and his hands released her shoulders to become buried in her short hair.

Smoothing her hands along his chest, she inevitably kissed him back. Time seemed to slow for them, though everything between them remained in sharp detail. The way his fingers stroked the strands of her hair in a sort of massaging pattern, the way their bodies hovered close, never quite touching.

As his lips trailed to her neck, Mary Margaret's hands slipped inside his suit and urged him to shrug off his jacket. He tossed it away somewhere on the floor and carefully lifted up her own shirt. A chill swept over her bare skin, but it barely matched the fire burning between them.

Backwards they fell onto the couch and it was as soft as Mary Margaret had imagined. His kisses covered her skin and her mind grew dizzy with wanting him. When he finally made love to her, every cell in her body seemed to explode and she sighed happily into his shoulder.

"Mary Margaret," he whispered into her ear and she smiled up at him. Her fingers brushed through his hair. She had never felt so good as she did on that night.

"Let's do it again." The desire for hot cocoa was all but forgotten.

…

_The tunnel again—a rocky, narrow passage surrounding her and seemingly pulsing around her with the dull echoing of the slightest squeak of a beady-eyed rat. A musty odor clogged her nostrils, invading her nose with its bitter, ancient scent. Dirt crumbled over her head, reminding her that she was standing in an unstable cavern underneath the ground, burrowed in the earth. _

_As her eyes slowly adjusted to the dim flickering of the burning torches, she recognized the jagged jaws of that cell, the one where he resided. _

_His name was still a mystery to her, even though it danced close to her tongue and niggled inside her mind. Now she could make out the shadowy confines of the cell, the darkness slanting across the muddy ground. _

_And there he was—just beyond the veil of inky shadows, his golden eyes illuminated as he watched her. Instinctively, her heart fluttered; it was the sense of being observed, hunted, by a predator. Yet she was always drawn in by her curiosity and desire to understand him, a moth drawn to a powerful flame. _

_A wisp of musty wind swirled along her skin and she automatically shivered despite the cloak that hung over her shoulders. A glint from inside the cell—the reflection of the yellow flames off his equally stained teeth as that devilish grin grew. _

_"Cold, dearie?" _

_Mockery shaded his snake-like hiss of a voice. Every syllable crawled over her nerves, demanding her undivided attention. One thing she had learned from these odd dreams: this man often got what he wanted. _

_She forced a tight-lipped smile and ignored the tingling sensation of goose-bumps permeating her skin. _

_"It is a bit chilly down here," she admitted softly just as another gust of whispery wind flowed through the tunnel. As much as she tried to hide her discomfort, she knew he noticed it. He seemed to notice everything. _

_"Perhaps…I could help you get warm. As a favor, no less," he lilted, the shift of his leathery attire the only sound as he inched forward the tiniest bit. Always dancing in the shadows, taunting her with what she could not see. _

_Her gentle hands rested on her swollen belly—she was pregnant more often than not in these dreams. _

_"What would I have to do?" The hardness in her voice surprised even her, though the man did not flinch or show any sign of disliking. Instead, a golden-gray hand lifted to point at her. Was it the light that made his skin more golden? _

_"You don't have to do anything," he replied innocently. Somehow, she was not convinced. This man…he was a trickster. A cunning, slippery creature that no other man could hope to control, never mind the bars that trapped him tonight. _

_"There's always a price with you. Always," she accused him, narrowing her eyes. _

_A surge of confidence shot through her, unlike any other feeling she'd known in Storybrooke. Stepping forward, she wrapped her fingers around the sharp bars of his cell in hopes to see him better, to stare him in the eye. The man giggled shrilly, the sound of it bouncing around her. _

_"Tonight I'm feeling…generous, my dear Snow. This one…I shall offer for free," he declared, his voice dripping with excitement. Her eyes tried to follow him in the darkness, but it was difficult. An instinct told her to step away from the bars. _

_Just as she slid her hands from the bars, his golden hands found hers and pulled her forward against the bars. Panic rose in her as she struggled to shove him away, her hands pushing against his chest. A scream threatened to slip out, but it halted in her throat as his fingers curled around her face, his thumbs pressing into the hollow of her throat—not too harshly, just enough to silence the scream he knew was coming. _

_His face hovered so close to hers that she could feel the warmth of his breath on her nose and lips. Her green eyes widened in uncertainty, a single tear sliding from beneath her lids. It dragged across her cheek and soaked into the skin of his fingers. He grinned down at her, those golden eyes burning into hers. _

_"Please," she murmured, her hands slowing in their movement against his leather-clad chest. Only two words were given to her, two words that sounded like a fierce promise spoken by a man who was often good on his word. _

_"My Snow." And then his lips hungrily claimed hers, this dream man kissing her until her mind grew dizzy and she succumbed to the darkness._

…_._

Mary Margaret awoke practically gasping from the intensity of the dream. Already she could feel the heat warming her face. Shifting her head on the pillow, she pressed a clammy hand to her forehead and took in soft breaths. The sheets rustled as Mr. Gold rose on his elbow to gaze down at her inquiringly.

"Bad dream?" Mary Margaret shook her head numbly as she struggled to hang on to the pieces of the dream. She tried to picture that man's face, but it was growing hazy. Even worse, she was beginning to get a headache between her eyes.

Mr. Gold tilted his head and she was reminded of that man's whimsical, dark nature. Why did she keep dreaming that man up? What did it even mean? _That's it. Tomorrow I'll go see Archie. Maybe he can help me understand these dreams. _

"Tell me, dear. Perhaps I can help," he suggested, gently touching her shoulder. Mary Margaret bit lightly on her lip and closed her eyes, recalling the fragments of the dream. Mr. Gold's fingers brushed down along her arm, encouraging her.

"It was…strange. I dreamt of that man again, the one that reminds me of you," she admitted quietly. His brown eyes seemed to study her critically, imploring her to continue. "He was locked up, in a cell. Right before the dream ended, he…" Her voice clammed up as she remembered that intense, startling moment.

"He…what?" Mr. Gold carefully pressed her. Mary Margaret glanced out the window at the crescent moon glowing in the sky.

"He kissed me."

Silence followed those three words and it had drawn out for so long that she inevitably tuned her eyes to gauge Mr. Gold's reaction. His eyes were unnaturally bright and amused. Somehow, that wasn't quite the reaction she expected—she didn't know what to make of it.

"Was he any good?" Mary Margaret blushed and then started to laugh.

"That's what you're concerned with? If he was a better kisser than you?" Mary Margaret smiled genuinely as she curled her body closer to his. He wrapped his arm around her waist and held her close to him.

"Well, of course. If you're finding more excitement in your dreams than you are with me, I'm not doing my job right," he quipped. Mary Margaret rested her head on his shoulder and closed her eyes. The headache was starting to subside a little.

"We can't have that. You should know I prefer you. He was a bit too rough for my taste," she said. The comfort of his embrace was making her sleepy again. Mr. Gold's fingers caressed down to her thigh.

"You don't like it rough, dearie?" A gentle squeeze on her thigh. Mary Margaret brought his hand back up to her waist, where she was more comfortable. He kissed the top of her head and she liked that sweet gesture so much better.

"I'm more of the sweet, gentle, head-over-heels type," she replied as sleep ebbed over her mind. She was so comfortable in his arms, she had no doubt that she could easily fall into a peaceful sleep. It didn't occur to her then, but when she thought about sweet gestures and falling head over heels, David's face floated in the back of her mind.

"This shall be my favor," Mr. Gold murmured in her ear, arousing her awake once more. He was calling in his favor tonight. Mary Margaret waited and then lifted her head to gaze up at him when he did not elaborate.

"And what favor is that?" Only a single word followed as Mr. Gold gently closed his eyes. It was something that she also wanted more than anything.

"Happiness."

…..

_**By the way, I would like to thank BlooperLover, iwannabegoldnrumpeled, DragonRose4, Lavender Leo, and Twyla Mercedes for their wonderful reviews. Thanks for reading, guys! **_

_**Also, pointing out that Gold's house is pink never gets old. I mean, *cough cough*, salmon.**_


	22. Chapter 22

_**A/N: Here's a somewhat quick chapter for you. A surprise awaits you at the end! I hope everyone enjoys it. **_

Mary Margaret paced outside Archie's door, hands wrung together with anxiety. What if he wasn't in? She supposed she could come back later. What if she was overreacting and the dreams were just that—dreams? Maybe this wasn't such a good idea after all.

Then again, maybe if she figured out the meaning behind these dreams, then they would stop altogether. It was worth a shot. Mary Margaret rubbed her throbbing forehead—she was getting another headache like the one last night. Was she coming down with something?

_Okay, Mary Margaret. You can do this. Breathe in, breathe out._ Slowly, she raised her fist and rapped on Archie's door. The sound echoed in the hall, matching the drumming of her heart.

Butterflies swarmed inside her stomach. No, this wasn't a good idea. She could handle the dreams by herself. Shaking her head, Mary Margaret started to walk away when the sound of Archie's door opening struck her ears.

"Mary Margaret?" Archie had poked his head into the hallway and he was staring at her curiously through his thick glasses. A light blush warmed her face.

"I'm sorry. I just…I needed to…" Archie smiled with understanding. It was one of the things she liked about Archie—he always seemed to know what people needed and he always offered to help no matter what.

"You need someone to talk to?" Mary Margaret smiled with relief and nodded. "Come on in." Archie stepped aside to let her pass, making sure to close the door behind him. She had never really been inside Archie's office before because she'd never felt the need to talk out her feelings or attend therapy sessions. Mary Margaret crossed her arms and took a good look around.

Archie's office was rather small, with only a plain chair and black couch for sessions. On the table was a box of tissues, ironically placed closer to Archie's seat than the couch. Crickets chirped peacefully from a jar near the window. There was a hint of a jasmine fragrance in the air and she figured it was meant to calm patients.

"What can I help you with?" She wondered if he was thinking about that tell-tale photo in _The Daily Mirror_. Judging from the pink shade to his face and aversion of his eyes, it was somewhere in the back of his mind.

"I've been having strange dreams lately," she explained hesitantly. Archie nodded and gestured for her to sit freely on the couch. He offered her water, but she declined. Releasing a thin breath, he lowered his body into the chair opposite her.

"And…you need some help figuring out these strange dreams, am I right?" She nodded, shifting to sit on the corner of the couch. He didn't need to ask whether she was losing sleep over the dreams—the beginnings of circles under her eyes were enough. "Let's start with what the dreams are actually about, then. Can you remember anything?"

Archie was patient in waiting for her to begin. He didn't fidget in his seat or check the time on his watch. Breathing deeply, the memory of the dreams quickly resurfaced in her mind. _Here goes nothing, _she thought.

"It feels as if I'm living another life. It's always in another time and there's always the same man with me. Though it's sometimes hard to see his face." Archie leaned forward and clasped his hands together. Concentrative lines etched his forehead.

"What else can you remember about this man?" Mary Margaret closed her eyes and pictured him in her head—near the river, on the dock, locked away in that dark, lonely jail cell. Emotions must have been warring on her face, for Archie extended a hand to calm her. "It's okay. Take your time."

"He's some sort of….powerful being. A dealmaker. He talks with an accent and wears leather most of the time. He reminds me…of Mr. Gold," she shyly admitted, letting her attention be focused on the floorboards instead of Archie.

There was a rustle of clothing as Archie awkwardly shifted in his seat. If he hadn't been thinking about that photo before, he was now. Mary Margaret's fingers tightened over her knee as the tense silence dragged on.

"Okay. Uh, does…does Mr. Gold…usually wear…leather?" Mary Margaret blushed ferociously and tried to quell the laughter from this ridiculous situation. Now she was quite glad that Mr. Gold did not accompany her to visit Archie—she would have had to explain to him just why a man in leather reminded her of him.

"No, he doesn't wear…" _Anything, _she'd almost blurted out foolishly. "He doesn't wear leather," she assured him as she caught herself. Archie sat back, his body a little more relaxed now. Now she suddenly wished she had taken him up on that water.

"Perhaps your dreams of this man are a result of your strong emotions lately toward Mr. Gold," he politely surmised. "They're both powerful men who enjoy making deals. They're both…quite mysterious. You're captivated by them. We'll skip the part where I ask you about your…um, love life." _Everyone knows about that, anyway, _he may as well have noted.

Mary Margaret's heart beat rapidly in her throat as she numbly nodded her head. Everything she heard made sense in her mind, but it felt like she was still missing a piece of the puzzle. Archie removed his glasses and ran a hand through his curly hair.

"Do you recall what happened in the most recent dream?"

Instantly it flashed in her mind: the narrow tunnel, the darkness shrouding his face, stepping too close to the bars…

"He kissed me," she said quietly, the same three words she'd uttered to Mr. Gold last night after having awoken so abruptly. There was the rhythmic ticking of a clock as she waited for Archie to respond. She crossed and then uncrossed her legs. He drummed his fingers absently on the arm of his chair.

"If you don't mind the cliché…how did that make you feel?" Mary Margaret smiled weakly as she recalled the way that man had pulled her close, his lips crashing down over hers. The way it made her head spin and go weak at the knees.

"In my dream, it felt wrong. It felt forbidden, like I wasn't supposed to be kissing someone like him. I liked it," she professed. It was true she had enjoyed some part of that imaginary kiss, but not as much as the tender kisses Mr. Gold so often gave her the night before.

Archie shot forward animatedly, as if the answer had just hit him. _Eureka, _his shining eyes practically exclaimed through his glasses.

"I think your problem revolves around your stress level, Mary Margaret. Not everyone approves of your relationship with Mr. Gold and it's something that's been bothering you. In a way, that relationship is also forbidden. Most often, what is forbidden to us only makes us desire it more."

Mary Margaret's lips thinned out into an anxious line as she absorbed his words.

"You're saying…this relationship is causing these dreams? That it'd be best if I…end it?" An ache squeezed her heart. Last night had been the happiest she had felt in a while. How could something like that be bad? She noticed Archie struggling for the right words.

"I'm saying…you have to stop worrying about what everyone wants and expects of you, Mary Margaret. It's those worries that are eating away at you. Focus on what you want. Be happy," he advised her in his good-natured way.

She smiled. That must be it—of course she felt guilty for not telling Emma about her connection with Mr. Gold. She'd been frantic lately over what Emma would do or say about it.

Something else flitted through her mind. Another detail of the dreams she had temporarily forgotten.

"It's true that our dreams sometimes come from experiences, right? In my dreams…it's strange, but I'm almost always…pregnant," she said, instinctively bringing a hand to her stomach. She dropped it once she realized what she was doing. Archie's brow furrowed.

"About how far along, approximately?"

"It always feels like…like the baby is going to come at any moment. Sometimes I swear I can feel it kick. But I'm not pregnant," she immediately rushed forward before he could make any assumptions. Archie held up his hands in surrender. A gentle spark shined in his eyes.

"Our dreams are very vivid when we're having them, especially when they might be trying to tell us something intricate. You never know, Mary Margaret. Perhaps you are struggling with the fear or notion of becoming pregnant. Subconsciously, that idea may be appearing in your dreams because you have yet to fully realize it," he explained, shrugging.

Mary Margaret placed a hand to her stomach again. Was she pregnant? Was that why it always seemed that way in the dreams? A sense of déjà vu passed over her, similar to how she felt upon holding Emma's baby blanket. Something she was trying to recall…

"Anything else you want to talk about?" Archie's serene voice brought her back to reality. She smiled weakly.

"Thank you, I'm fine," Mary Margaret said as she rose from the couch. Immediately, she dug through her purse. "What do I owe you?" Archie laid a hand over hers and shook his head.

"You don't owe me anything today, Mary Margaret. I'm always happy to help," Archie said, taking his hand away. Mary Margaret mulled it over—no, there was a reason, wasn't there? It was much too close to rent week.

"Does this have something to do with Mr. Gold?" Archie averted his gaze and she knew she hit the target. He shrugged sheepishly.

"Uh, yeah. A little. He called this morning to tell me you were coming for a visit and said that if I charged you, he'd up my rent just as much." Mary Margaret shook her head solemnly. It seemed Mr. Gold was always doing her favors. She had to wonder just what he expected in return. More happiness?

Stubbornly, she pulled out a ten dollar bill and pressed it into his hand. She walked out of the office before Archie could offer it back.

* * *

><p>"Do you believe in past lives?"<p>

Mary Margaret was clad in a low-key flower-print dress and currently staring at Emma inquiringly. The two of them were sitting a few feet apart on the couch, picking through Chinese food. Emma's head jerked up as she wrestled through lo mein with her chopsticks.

"What, like reincarnation? As in…I might as well have been Cleopatra? Sounds a lot like Henry's theory," she mumbled as a piece of cooked broccoli flung out of the box and onto the hardwood floor.

Mary Margaret bent to pick it up with a napkin, crumbling it in a ball. Her appetite was almost nonexistent—she was playing with her rice more than she was eating it.

"Not necessarily. I mean…if you were having dreams of living as someone else in another time," she clarified. Emma slurped up her noodles, brow furrowed.

"Uh…can't say I have. Why? Are _you_ having dreams? Mine involve chopping down Madame Mayor's apple tree with that chainsaw like I should have done." Mary Margaret lightly shrugged as she dabbed the grease off her face with another napkin. Emma's green eyes bored into her while the girl tucked her jeaned legs up on the couch.

"They're just dreams…of…a…man," she admitted hesitantly. A pink blush burned in the apples of her cheeks. Emma's eyebrows lifted prominently in surprise. Her lips rounded out in a little 'O'.

"David insists on winning you back and so he invades your dreams. This guy sure goes to great lengths for love. Next he'll be standing on the street outside your window with a boom-box playing sappy eighties music," Emma teased as she peered into her nearly empty Chinese box. Mary Margaret set hers on a nearby table to be forgotten.

"It wasn't David," she quietly revealed, weaving her fingers together on her lap. Emma paused in chewing to glance at her expectantly. "It was a man wearing leather. He was a dealmaker…with an accent." Mary Margaret was sure she didn't have to point out what type of accent it was. Emma's body stiffened at the mention of 'dealmaker'.

"You're telling me that Mr. Gold wears leather pants?" Emma sounded horrified and in desperate need of brain bleach. By her tone, you could have sworn Mary Margaret just told her that she was planning on going streaking down the street.

Nervously, Mary Margaret bit her lip. _Why does everyone ask that? _

"Mr. Gold does not wear leather pants," she protested vehemently. Heat climbed up her neck. "The man in my dreams does." Emma gawked open-mouthed at her in sheer disbelief.

"Yeah, the man who happens to remind you of Mr. Gold. You know, I was going to ask about you staying over there last night, but now I don't think I want to know."

Emma abruptly crossed the room to dump the rest of her food in the trash. A violent shudder rippled up her body—apparently the mental image of Mr. Gold in leather pants was hard to shake.

"He's not that bad—" Mary Margaret started to defend him, but Emma's hand shot up and warned her to stop in her tracks. The blonde's eyes were clenched shut as if she were concentrating on much better things than leather pants.

"Nope! Spare me the details," she interceded, shooing a hand in Mary Margaret's direction. "Honestly, what do you see in him so much that he's the man of your dreams?" Mary Margaret sighed and rose to deposit her Chinese food in the fridge. She had half of it left and why waste good food?

Emma seemed to relax enough to give Mary Margaret a deeply concerned look.

"Just do me a favor and don't get knocked up. 'Cause if you do, I'll have to babysit and that sentiment is just too uncomfortable for words," Emma stated as she trudged in the direction of her bedroom. Or perhaps she was aiming for the shower.

Mary Margaret quietly wandered to her own bedroom and flounced down on the bed. After a restless moment, she combed her fingers through her short black hair and donned a light cardigan.

She knew her feet would inevitably carry her through the door, along the street, and straight to Mr. Gold. What could she say? His presence seemed to comfort her lately. Millions of troubling thoughts scattered her mind.

There was no doubt about it—she needed to tell him _tonight_. She had been meaning to break it to Emma, but that didn't quite work out well. Emma's last words kept circling her mind mockingly. No doubt Emma would soon figure out where she had gone, but she would deal with it later. She'd just leave her a note, that's all.

Grabbing her purse off the end of the bed, Mary Margaret clicked off the lamp, shrouding her room in shadows. Before she did, however, her green eyes had dropped to the white stick that she had tossed into her wastebasket earlier today. And on that stick was a tiny pink plus sign.

* * *

><p><em><strong>Dun, dun, dun! I know, cliffhanger. Sigh. However, I think I have at least the next chapter plotted out in my mind. So hopefully the wait will not be terrible. And I want to thank those that gave me lovely reviews last chapter. <strong>_

_**BlooperLover: I was actually thinking of writing the Archie scene anyway, but I'm glad you pointed it out. Thanks for reading. Much appreciated! (-;**_

_**DragonRose4: Aw, thank you for the kind review! I only try my best. And yes, I love playing with the whole back and forth between FT world and Storybrooke in this story. To me, Rumpel and Snow's interactions are actually very interesting to deal with. And you know only Mr. Gold could get away with having a pink house. **_

_**Lavender Leo: Your review was incredible and made me smile so much! I definitely try my hardest to stay true to the characters, especially because I love these two so much. Hope you keep reading!**_

_**Thank you everyone! Until next time, dearies!**_


	23. Chapter 23

_**A/N: Hello, everyone! So, I'm thinking of wrapping this story up soon—I'm not planning to continue much of it past the first season. But I want to thank all those that have supported, read, and reviewed this story. As long as someone out there is enjoying it, I am happy. **_

_**On that note, I quickly wish to thank the recent reviewers of this story—QuickSilverFox3, Twyla Mercedes, and the anonymous Guest. **_

_**To Guest: Aw, I absolutely loved this review. I always had the feeling that Rumpel liked Snow White, especially during the scene in 7:15 a.m. Thank you for the amazing comments—I appreciate them so much. I never actually had the intention of writing White Gold before; somehow, it just came about. (-; **_

_**To Twyla Mercedes: I very much like your observation about Rumpel's possessiveness and possible paternalism. (-; Let's just say magic can certainly be tricky sometimes. No one knows that better than Rumpel. **_

_**Now enjoy!**_

Mary Margaret slowly breathed in and then released the air through her nose. Again, until her nerves weren't frazzled electrical wires. Poising her fist before the door, she knocked firmly: once, twice, thrice.

One night previous, a night much like this one with the air blanketed by frost to predict the upcoming winter, Emma had told her Henry's theory that she, Mary Margaret Blanchard, was her mother. It was one of a million theories Henry had swirling through his little head, including one in which she was the iconic Snow White. And by that logic, Emma was undoubtedly Snow White's daughter—_her_ daughter.

Yet Mary Margaret had never been pregnant before, never had a scare, even after her uncharacteristically spontaneous one-night stand with Whale. It must be a blessed miracle, bringing a child into the world and giving it hope. Mary Margaret couldn't outright say otherwise; she had never been there. In any case, she somehow didn't feel pregnant. Or was that a natural way of things? A case of excited nerves, or denial?

Lost in her all-consuming thoughts, she didn't even hear the door open or realize that Mr. Gold was standing there until he extended a hand to brush her arm. It startled her and she gasped, pressing a hand to her heart as it pulsed violently in her chest.

"Believe it or not, that's the approximate reaction I always get from the nuns whenever I collect rent," he quipped, reeling in his hand so as not to frighten her any more than necessary. Heat burned the apples of her cheeks and a choking gurgle—she supposed it was a laugh—escaped her lips.

"I'm sorry. I was thinking," she replied, catching her breath. Mr. Gold cocked his head and that smirk of curiosity crawled across his face.

"Thinking? Mind if I ask what about?"

Mary Margaret lowered her gaze to the wooden slats of the porch, though she should have done the very opposite. Unknowingly, he had just handed her the perfect moment on a silver platter. And just as she reached out for the sparkling glass of wine from that platter, the waiter moved on.

"It was just something…important," she vaguely mumbled. By her tone, she could have been thinking about the weather and not the unborn child cradled in her womb. "I hope I wasn't interrupting anything."

Mr. Gold must have realized that his body was still blocking the doorway, for he graciously stepped aside to let her in. He offered to take her jacket—it was much warmer inside the house.

"I was just finishing dinner and was pondering over what to have for dessert." Over his shoulder, he tossed her a hungry look. Mary Margaret blushed, but smiled. Into the kitchen he led her and she noticed that it wasn't a quip. The table was set for one; an empty plate with the tell-tale stains of food, fork and knife joined in a silver X. "Let me clear this away and—"

"Here, I'll help," Mary Margaret insisted as Mr. Gold stumbled forward with his cane. She handled the plate, utensils, and empty glass of wine all the way to the sink and thrust the tap of the faucet. Ruby would either be amused that she was practicing her kitchen skills, or astounded that she was offering to do Mr. Gold's housework.

"Oh, so the true motive is revealed," Mr. Gold's rich voice floated above the water without rising in volume. He was just that demanding for undivided attention…and had achieved a Master's degree in the art of gratification.

Mary Margaret glanced back at him questioningly as she ran the glass under the stream, the water overflowing. Mr. Gold removed his suit jacket and rolled up his sleeves. "You've come to do my dishes? Now I'll really have to hire you as my maid, telekinetic as you are. A proposition, dear—you rinse, I'll dry."

"Deal," she agreed, pushing over so he could join her at the sink. A smile dominated her lips as they fell into the age-old pattern of the chore. Mary Margaret tenderly rinsed under the cool water and then handed the dish off to Gold, who expertly dried it spotless with a thin dishcloth.

Glass, fork, knife, plate. All stacked, all done—nothing left for her to stall.

"Tell me. What was so important? You looked quite concerned," Mr. Gold pointed out as he tucked the towel between the cupboard below the sink. Mary Margaret chewed her bottom lip, searching for the right words. Every combination—besides blurting it out—sounded wrong. "Did Dr. Hopper declare you insane?"

And here came that tempting silver platter again. Would she care for a drink? Going once, going twice….

"He told me…you had called ahead and asked him not to charge me." Gone. Mr. Gold's face darkened as he straightened out his sleeves,

"And did he charge you?" _He had better not, _Mr. Gold's stern tone inevitably implied. Mary Margaret squared her shoulders and shook her head confidently.

"No, he didn't," she immediately said. Mr. Gold nodded, possibly in relief. Another surge of confidence rose inside her—at this rate, she just might blurt out the news. "But I gave him a ten, anyway." Mr. Gold's head snapped in her direction. He obviously hadn't expected that.

"A ten he doesn't need. I might as well add that ten to his rent," Mr. Gold sighed, brow furrowed as if he were already mentally making that calculation. Mary Margaret frowned in disagreement.

"You don't have to do that," she insisted, the same words she'd uttered when he threatened Miss Ginger in the diner. Mr. Gold's eyes remained averted from her face, his expression hard and unreadable.

"I know very well about my obligations. I still intend to do it—"

"Well, I wish you wouldn't," she harshly interrupted him. Her eyes boggled afterwards at her sudden step forward. _Where did that come from? _Mr. Gold seemed just as surprised, his brown eyes scanning her face as if debating whether that comment really came from her mouth. "Besides, Archie was nothing but helpful. I figured he deserved something in return."

The air was tense between them as she waited for his response. This was not the way she imagined this night would go, what with the news still unspoken.

"What else did he tell you? Anything about the dreams?" Silver platter, silver platter. A drink, Mary Margaret? Just a sip of wine from the silver platter…And in her mind her hand finally wrapped around the stem of that wine glass.

"There was one detail about the dreams that I never told anyone, including you," she hinted hesitantly, her hands gripping the edge of the sink for support. Maybe Mr. Gold should sit down for this; she didn't want him to lose his footing with his bad leg or anything. "But I told Archie and he thinks that it might be a reality."

Mr. Gold's eyes bored into her. _Just say it. Stop sipping the wine and just down it once and for all. Down the hatch. _

"And what is this detail?" It was time. _Down the hatch. _

"I'm pregnant."

Two words, having such an impact as to cause an impenetrable silence. It rang in her ears, spinning round like a record that skipped terribly in its old age. Even her heart seemed to have stopped beating.

Mr. Gold's brown eyes scrutinized her, almost as if he thought she must be joking. As if she would smile and scream out "April Fools!" A leisurely smile broke out over his face. And then the most unexpected thing happened: he _laughed._ A hearty, overjoyed, bend-over-at-the-waist, tears in your eyes laugh.

Mary Margaret stared incredulously at him as his face turned red as a tomato and he shook his head wistfully. Water did spring to his eyes and he wiped it away with the back of his hand. And all the while she could only stare, uncomprehending. _What's so funny about this? _

"I'm serious," she said, but, _oh_, that type of laughter was so contagious. Almost against her will, her lips quirked in a goofy smile and laughter bubbled from her throat. In a matter of seconds, she too was laughing uncontrollably even though she had no idea why. It was one of the world's greatest spreading viruses—laughter.

Mr. Gold straightened and attempted to regain his collectivity, but it left behind an elated smile on his lips. Laughter trembled right below the surface.

"I…I know you are, dearie. Don't you see? I never thought I'd get a second chance to make up for the mistake I made with my boy. This…this is the best thing to happen," he exclaimed, smoothing his hands along her face. Her laughter died away as she gazed into his eyes, hope filling her and _it would be okay. _What had she been so worried about? They could be happy. "Thank you," he whispered before he kissed her.

…..

He had no idea where that came from.

The bubble of laughter came out of nowhere, rising up through his chest and into his throat before bursting from his mouth. It consumed his mind, wracked his body. Years—no, centuries—of not laughing exploded from him. Yes, he had a habit of giggling in his former life, mostly to mock those he dealt with, but this was different. This was _laughing. _

It was the whole miraculous calculation of it. For centuries, he'd used all his magic and all his power to bring them to this world, to find Bae. He'd all but given up hope of having a second chance. A second chance? It was unforeseeable. There was Emma—his precious curse-breaker—but she'd belonged solely to Charming and Snow.

And, _gods, _it had been so much work! Even that little vial of white potion to create Snow's beloved Emma had been a pain in the arse to make. And now, as a simple human with no means of magic, fate had handed him this. Such an easy feat that even he hadn't imagined it possible.

He ultimately had the upper hand over Charming. She was his, in every sense of the word now excluding marriage. She was his. It filled him with so much impish glee that water sprang to his eyes. Oh, the unexpected _simplicity_ of it.

It was…it was…

It was funny as hell, at least to him. Oh, he'd love nothing more than to gloat before Charming and claim everything that was rightfully his. For now, he settled for planting a kiss on Snow's lovely lips and reveling in the knowledge of their unborn child. His child.

Fate worked in mysterious ways.

…

It was the witching hour of the night, when magic was said to be most powerful and unpredictable. The stars were white fireballs amongst the inky black sky, the wind a light wisp that rustled the fields and trees.

Snow tucked the hood of her cloak tighter over her head against the chill of the underground dungeon. The torches offered light; they did not provide warmth.

She had noticed the disapproving glances and exchanges of the guards, even as she acknowledged their warnings. But what was she to do? Break her deal? No one had ever heard of Rumpelstiltskin's deals being broken; it either did not happen very often or, she suspected, it was because no one was left to tell the tale afterwards.

Even imprisoned, his existence was formidable.

Rounding the bend of the tunnel, the cell came into view. It was a uniquely structured cul-de-sac of the tunnel, built by dwarf hands and manufactured through dwarf blood. Magic and strength could only dwindle inside that trap; nothing could escape its perimeters. Whenever she laid eyes on it, with its pointy stalagmite bars, she was reminded of the massive jaws of a monster.

Rumpelstiltskin was sprawled leisurely on the dirty, cold ground of the cell, his leather attire covered with a fine layer of dust that had never been there before. One golden-skinned hand flowed back and forth, rhythmically timed to music in his head. A low, strange sound echoed off the walls around her: he was giggling.

"Something funny?" It wasn't an accusation by any means. She was just curious.

Cautiously, she glanced over her shoulder at the dim tunnel; she knew there would be guards posted for her safety. They didn't trust Rumpelstiltskin as far as they could throw him. _They don't understand their own prisoner. He won't hurt me. _

When her wide eyes returned to him, he was sitting cross-legged on the floor and staring at her intently. She hadn't even heard him move, stealthy enough to put Stealthy the dwarf to shame.

"You wouldn't get the joke, dearie," he blatantly informed her, leaning forward while his palms rested calmly on his knees. From the look of it, he could have easily been relaxing on the shore of the river and not trapped inside a dingy, hopeless cell.

"Try me," she challenged boldly, narrowing her eyes with that fierce confidence that burned so brightly inside her.

Rumpelstiltskin arched an eyebrow as though deeming whether she was worthy of his insight. Quick as lightning, the imp had leaped to his feet and collided against the bars, his leather-clad arm reaching out for her. Snow involuntarily stepped back, lingering just beyond his reach.

"What's the harm, Snow? Come a little closer…I dare you," he lilted almost playfully, curling his fingers around the bars. His hands slid down, down and suddenly one finger jutted out, pointing to her tell-tale bump. "Let's see how that child is doing, shall we?"

Hooking his finger, he made a 'come-hither' gesture, beckoning her forward. Tentatively, Snow neared the cell until she was standing directly before it, her belly extended greatly before her.

Rumpelstiltskin wiggled his slender, golden fingers in anticipation before splaying his palms flat against her belly. His eyes closed peacefully and all was quiet in the tunnel; even the flames seemed to flicker uncertainly.

"Ooh," he moaned pleasurably. It was as though the act of gently caressing her bump gave him a desirable intimacy like no other. His eyes opened; brilliant, gleaming gems filled with unending satisfaction. "She's going to be a tough one. Feel it, Snow? Feel how she kicks and squirms—_oh!_ There she is." Rumpelstiltskin giggled, the laughter bouncing off the walls. "Won't be long now."

"And the Queen's curse?" Snow was almost afraid to ask, but if anyone knew the truth, it was him. Rumpelstiltskin removed his hands from her belly and leaned his face closer to hers through the bars. It was so chilly down here that his breath fogged in the air between them.

"Soon," he whispered; a dark, deadly promise. Snow dropped her hands to her belly and indeed felt the demanding kick of her child. Her daughter, who definitely wanted out—_soon._

"What else can I do? How can we win against her?" There must have been a way. For the sake of their child, for the sake of their kingdom and happiness…_There must be a way, s_he thought, nearly pleaded, if only to calm her own nerves. This curse could not be it. This could not be the way the story ended.

"You can't," he exclaimed, shattering her hopes. If there was no way for them to win against the Queen, what would become of their world? What would become of them? "Except…" Rumpelstiltskin held up a finger and it made her pause in wonder. _Except…what? _"There might be something that could very well aid you. Not in this world, but the next."

It was all Snow needed to hear in order to charge forward and grip the bars. Her hands gently brushed his skin, his fists clenched directly above hers. Their faces were so close—his hovering above her own—that she could feel the slight warmth of his breath on her skin.

"Tell me. What is this object? Where do I find it?" His lips curled back in a victorious, jagged smile. The light reflected off his teeth as he gazed down at her.

"Ah, ah, ah! For that…there's a price," he declared, though she should have known. Everything came with a price. Charming's disappointed blue eyes filled her mind, but she knew there was no other choice. This had to be done.

"What do you want?" Her fingers were turning a ghastly, chafed red from the drop in temperature, her voice merely a raw whisper above the draft. His thumb tenderly stroked the skin of her forefinger, sending a deeper chill spiraling down her back.

"Nothing extravagant, dearie. A kiss will do. A kiss…on your pretty, red lips," he specified in case she tried jumping through loopholes. One of his hands traced the outline of her lips.

Snow dipped her head and weighed her options. There was something that could aid them; there was a _chance. _And for that…what was one simple kiss? It would not mean the same as a kiss from her Charming—no one could replace such a meaningful gesture.

A draft of cool wind flowed through the tunnel and she shivered inside her cloak. She raised her head to see if he had noticed. Of course he had. His grin was much more mocking now.

"Cold, dearie?" Snow forced a smile, trying to fight the urge to wrap her cloak fiercely around her.

"It is a bit chilly down here," she admitted. It was then she realized just how close she had allowed herself to come to him. A couple more inches and the dealmaker could easily steal a kiss without ever striking a deal. But she knew he wouldn't because deals were his specialty. His craving.

"Seems you need that kiss badly, Snow. Allow me," he murmured as his arm snaked through the bars and around her waist, urging her against the bars. His other hand gripped her chin, his fingers digging into her skin. Her hands shoved against his chest, but his arm held her in place, right where he wanted her.

Ever so slowly, he craned his head forward until his lips were a mere inch or so apart from hers.

"How about that deal?" Snow's breath quickened, her heart hammering as she anticipated what inevitably was going to happen one way or another. A silent tear slid from her green eyes and soaked into his golden skin.

"Please," she whispered. Just one word, but apparently it was enough for him.

Eagerly, his lips crashed down over hers. Hungrily, they moved against her lips and it was only a moment before she stopped trying to shove him away. Another moment and her lips parted, her arm wrapping around his neck to pull him down to her. She kissed him back.

Gasping for breath, she pulled back and waited to see if it was good enough for him. Satisfyingly, he smiled and licked his lips as though savoring the taste of her.

"It is hidden in my castle, in the library. A little unfinished project of mine, though the curse will ultimately tie up loose ends. It is crucial to the Queen's downfall." Snow nodded, picturing his library in her mind, complete with the legendary spinning wheel. The last time she was there, she hadn't quite been herself.

"What is it, this crucial object?" His fingers caressed her jaw softly and she was almost afraid to breathe or else break the tense moment that was unfolding. Finally, his lips formed the carefully chosen words she needed to hear.

"A book. It is called…_Once Upon A Time." _

….


	24. Chapter 24

_**Chapter Twenty-Four**_

The first time she'd stepped foot inside Mr. Gold's pawnshop was a year ago. A light spring rain had sprinkled down over Storybrooke the night before, leaving a fresh dewy scent in the air. Puddles flooded the streets and glowed with rainbows when the sun shined down just right.

That day felt different from any other in Storybrooke. To Mary Margaret, that day felt riddled with a pinch of magic.

But as with most good vibrations and hints of magic in Storybrooke, it was short-lived. Strolling along the empty sidewalk that wet morning, Mary Margaret's thoughts had been occupied by one person: Henry Mills.

Henry was unlike any other child in her class. Of course he was polite, considerate, and did well academically. But he never seemed like a child to her. Henry was mature beyond his years, understanding the world in ways that most other children could barely perceive.

There was one day she particularly recalled among all others.

Class had just been dismissed for the weekend, chatter booming through the school about exciting weekend plans. Sleepovers, movies, sugary candy—things that inhabited a child's world and never ceased to amaze them.

Mary Margaret had watched in wonder as these young kids piled out of the classroom, their lessons already forgotten, talking a mile a minute with toothy, elated smiles. All that was left was Henry. Henry, who was standing off to the side by his desk, filling his backpack morosely. Every now and then, he would glance up at his fellow classmates with a look of pure longing.

Watching him watching them, Mary Margaret recognized a dawning of understanding burning inside her.

Henry may have been polite, considerate, and a good student…but he was also distant. Henry was alone. More than that, he was truly unhappy. Too often Henry's face contained a furrowed brow of frustration instead of a carefree smile, as if trying to figure out what he was missing that other children seemed to have. Whatever it was, no one ever gave Henry Mills the memo.

It pained her to see him so unhappy.

Somehow, she had found herself standing in front of Mr. Gold's pawnshop, though she couldn't quite recall the journey her feet had traversed. The sign was flipped to 'Open', beckoning her. Dozens of antiques and mysterious merchandise crowded the window.

And that was when the idea unfurled in her mind. Maybe there was something in there that could help Henry.

Before she knew it, that silvery chime of a bell was ringing in her ears and her green eyes rose to meet a pair of brown ones that she had only ever encountered in passing on the street. Snippets of that conversation were dredged up from the recesses of her mind.

_Miss Blanchard…what can I do for you? _

_I'm looking for something for Henry. Something to cheer him up, make him happy. _

_I believe I have just the right thing. _

Lo and behold, her instinct about the pawnshop had been right. There was a book that would cheer Henry up. It was unique, unlike any other book she'd ever come across, filled with pages upon pages of remarkable fairy tales. There were even beautiful illustrations to accompany them.

That bright smile on Henry's face when he first opened that book, that smile brimming with happiness and wonder, was the type of smile she hoped to one day see on the faces of her own children.

….

It took half a night to travel to the Dark Castle where Rumpelstiltskin once resided before his capture. In her mind, it was better to travel by night, with less of the Queen's loyal men running about and the Queen herself. Snow knew just how much the Queen valued her beauty sleep.

She was making the journey alone, despite telling Charming about her meeting with the dealmaker and the item of importance in his castle. Rubbing her arms, she recalled how Charming had taken her into his embrace and insisted that he go with her, but she declined. This was just something, she felt in her bones, she needed to do on her own.

Snow had only been inside the castle once, but its interior was hard to forget. It crackled with age and power until she could taste magic on her tongue. Closing the elaborate entrance doors behind her, she lowered her hood and studied her surroundings.

There were no torches lit and it was dim, but her memory offered her help. A grand hall, with marble stairs leading deeper into the heart of the castle. The carpeted halls, the walls seemingly thriving around her as she walked. The library, which hosted Rumpelstiltskin's prized spinning wheel and shelves upon shelves of ancient books. On a nearby table were colorful glass vials filled with who only knew what sort of magical remedies and potions—she didn't dare meddle with those.

Almost in a trance, Snow wandered to the spinning wheel and traced a delicate finger along it, the wheel rotating soundlessly. She wondered how long it had been since enchanting threads of gold spooled out from it. On the heels of that, she wondered if it ever would again.

Shaking the notion away, Snow eyed the towering shelves of books. All she needed was one, but there were so many! How would she ever manage to find it?

With a determined expression on her lips, Snow crossed to the first bookshelf and began thumbing through the books, searching for any leather-bound book that matched the description of the one she required. Straining her eyes, Snow took a couple out to examine them, only to replace them on the shelf again with a dejected sigh.

All too soon, her fingers had traced over the last book on the last reachable shelf. _On to the next case, then, _she thought with disappointment. _I'll have to find a ladder to reach the top shelves…_

Before she could finish that thought and as she was passing by the spinning wheel, something thumped oddly beneath her feet. It was a hollow sound, made by one of the floorboards. Snow experimentally stepped off that particular slat and then on again. Off, on. _Thump, thump. _

Realization dawned over her. Could that be what he meant? Snow replayed their conversation in her head, every word. He'd told her the book was in the library. He never mentioned a shelf or a bookcase.

A hand on her pregnant belly, Snow knelt to pry the board up with her fingernails. She moaned when she realized her nails were too short to lift up the slat. Only an inch or so before falling softly back into place.

It was no use—she needed something sharp. With purposeful steps, she scurried through the castle to locate the kitchen. There had to be something she could use; a knife, perhaps.

Snow sighed with relief as she swept into the shadowy kitchen—there was a knife sitting on a table in front of her, glinting dangerously. The edge was crusted with red, but she didn't want to think about that right now.

The floorboard lifted much easier for the knife than it did for her nails. Beneath it was a dark, narrow confinement. The squeak of a rat floated up from the shadows and a cold chill slithered along her arms.

Setting the knife down beside her, Snow dipped her hand inside and immediately touched a flat, smooth object. Finding the edge, she lifted out a heavy, leather-bound book. Snow's smile returned as she gazed down on it in wonder.

In gold lettering and trim were the words '_Once Upon A Time.' _Snow's lips moved silently as her green eyes devoured them. Hope bubbled inside her like a fountain waiting to explode.

This was it—this was the book that was meant to help them! Snow hugged it to her chest and was almost tempted to flip through the pages now, but decided to wait until she had returned to the safety of her castle.

Replacing the board, Snow carried the enchanted book beneath her cloak and endured the journey back to her castle with the weight of it against her heart. Only when she reached Charming did her nerves slow in their excitement. Worn out from the night's journey, Snow promptly collapsed into Charming's arms and into a deep sleep.

Not even a kiss could have awoken her.

….

Mary Margaret awoke with a smile on her face. When was the last time that had happened? Before these last couple of weeks—with the mess with David and her potential conviction—it was hard to tell.

As she allowed her body to stretch to its full length like a kitten basking in the sun, the recollection of the previous night flooded her mind. It came in pieces, until finally the whole picture was clear again.

Mr. Gold had accepted the news better than she thought he would. The two of them celebrated with warm cups of tea instead of alcohol, running their tongues tired with the possibility of a child. She wanted it to be a girl, he a boy like the one he lost.

After that, she could remember falling into his arms and being carried off into a blissful sleep. It had been the most perfect night of her life, every moment etched into her mind.

Cradling her head on his shoulder, his lips pressed a kiss against her forehead, just grazing the line of her dark hair. Her breathing came in slow sighs while his fingers caressed her back and eased her into a peaceful state. She wished this morning never had to end.

And then her phone rang.

Mary Margaret moaned and blindly scrambled on the bedside table for it. Eyes still closed, she didn't think to check who was calling before answering. She should have known it would probably be…

"Mary Margaret?" Emma's no-nonsense voice burst from the phone and her eyes shot open wide. Mary Margaret sat upright, modestly clutching the sheet to her chest as if Emma had just walked in on her. There was even a slight stroke of heat flushing her face.

"Emma," she breathed with as much early-morning enthusiasm as she could muster. Beside her, Mr. Gold's brown eyes scrutinized her, not without sheer interest over the identity of the caller. "What's going on? Is everything okay?"

"You tell me. Judging from your vague note, I'm going to assume you had a sleepover at _his _place," she retorted, refusing to use Mr. Gold's name. "Please tell me you two aren't going to move in together or something crazy like that. Just give me the warning now."

The man in question smirked from his side of the bed.

"Someone sounds lonely. Tell her she can always stop by for breakfast. I'm making waffles," Gold announced. Mary Margaret opened her mouth to translate Gold's words in a way that Emma would take much better, but it was too late.

"In his dreams. You can tell him where I'd prefer he stuff those waffles. Though, knowing you, you'll tone it down and ruin the impact I was going for," she shot back over the phone. Mary Margaret glanced over at Mr. Gold, who was watching her expectantly.

"It's okay, Emma. I think he heard you." There was a pause on the other end. She could just picture the pout on Emma's face.

"Good…I think. Personally, I'd rather not imagine the reason for him being in such close proximity to you," she admitted. Mary Margaret could practically feel Emma's shudder. She knew Emma was trying to show a sliver of support just by not questioning her, but the sheriff's disliking toward Gold was hard to ignore.

"Did you tell her the good news yet?" Mr. Gold winked at Mary Margaret, whose mouth had just hit the ground. Nothing came out. This was not the way she planned for her morning to go—it was vastly moving downhill. _Please, don't let her have heard that. Please, Emma…_

"What good news?"

Mary Margaret blanched and bit her lip. No matter what she said now, Emma would not let it go until she heard the truth. Lying certainly never worked. It was like trying to snatch a bone from a ferocious dog.

"Is it something to do with Regina?"

Mary Margaret shook her head before remembering that Emma couldn't see her. Her voice wasn't working; her brain was reduced to mashed potatoes.

"Not exactly. Um, well, Emma—"

Quickly, Mary Margaret kicked off the covers and rushed for the bathroom where she could talk to Emma more privately. Wrapping the sheet around her body, it trailed on the floor behind her. The last thing she saw before closing the door was the flash of amusement on Mr. Gold's face. It didn't help matters.

"Well…what? Is that witch actually going to back off and let you teach again?" Mary Margaret leaned against the sink and played with the golden ring on her finger nervously. What would Emma say to this? _Only one way to find out, _she realized.

"No, it's not that. I'm…I happen to be…" _Just spit it out, Mary Margaret. It's just one little word, two syllables, starting with the letter 'P.' _"Pregnant," she blurted out. _There, it's out. Too late to take it back. _

Silence rang in her ear, almost deafening in its absence of sound. Was Emma even breathing or did she hang up? Lowering the phone from her ear, she checked the screen. Nope, Emma was still there. Apparently, she was struck speechless.

"Wait…what?" Emma sounded flustered, as if her brain wasn't processing what Mary Margaret was telling her. Short-circuiting, fizzling, ready to explode into pieces. Closing her eyes, Mary Margaret swept a hand over her clammy face.

"You heard me correctly. I'm pregnant," she responded with a little less hesitancy that time.

There was movement outside the door—she figured Mr. Gold had decided to dress and head downstairs. Either that or he was eavesdropping. He must have hated being out of the loop.

"You're…wow. Okay, I need to process this. I need time to think," Emma said in exasperation. "Look, I called because I have to escort Leroy down to the station. Not even eight in the morning and he's already drunk. Got into a fist fight with Dr. Whale in the diner. Is there any way you could get Henry to school?"

Mary Margaret had started to laugh when Emma mentioned Leroy. She just hoped he didn't hurt Dr. Whale too badly, heavyset as he was. Better yet, she hoped Leroy didn't get into more trouble for getting into the fight in the first place.

"What about Regina?" Emma snorted into the phone.

"Yeah, right. According to Henry, she's too busy. Always leaves early and he either takes the bus or walks to school. The bus already left, thanks to our usual breakfast before school. So…?"

Mary Margaret clutched the phone to her ear and paced inside the bathroom, the sheets whispering on the tile. It was as big as her bedroom and her kitchen combined, complete with a generous glass shower. God, she could really go for a hot shower this morning. But how could she say no?

"I'll be there in ten minutes," she promised, turning on the water in the sink so that she could splash some cool water on her face. At least she felt a little more awake.

"Great. And please tell me you're coming home tonight. We really need to talk. Pregnant? What the—" Emma hung up before the choice of swear could filter through. It was going to be a long day yet.

Striding out of the bathroom, she hastily threw on her clothes and found Mr. Gold in the midst of making breakfast. Her stomach grumbled. _Ooh, that smells good. _

"Right on time," Mr. Gold addressed her over his shoulder. "I've got anything you could ever crave for breakfast, my dear. Eggs, bacon, waffles…" He turned to face her. His elated mood dampened when he registered her regretful expression.

"Actually, I need to take Henry to school. Emma's having problems with Leroy and Regina's too busy to do it herself…." Her voice trailed off as Mr. Gold arched an inquisitive eyebrow at her. "It's a long story," she sighed.

He turned back toward the stove, his lips tight and unpleasant. Mary Margaret felt an ache in her heart—she'd like nothing more than to at least have breakfast here with him, but she already promised Emma.

"Guess I'm eating my waffles alone, then," he muttered solemnly. Mary Margaret approached him and laid a reassuring hand on his arm. His neck craned in her direction and his eyes gazed down at her.

"Maybe this afternoon we can have lunch at the diner," she suggested, putting on a smile to encourage him. If anything, it might make up for this lost morning. "I'll pay," she added, drawing closer to him. A slow smile spread across his face and his hand reached up to touch a strand of her dark hair.

"Please, dearie. I have more money than I could ever spend. I'll pay, while you'll simply enjoy it," he declared with finality. Mary Margaret tilted her head up to his and nodded.

"Sounds like a plan," she agreed. The clock reminded her she had only a few minutes to meet up with Henry. Wishing him goodbye for now, she headed for the door. It didn't surprise her that Mr. Gold always had the last word.

"Oh, and tell little Henry I said 'hello.'"

….

_**I can never forget to thank those that are reading and giving me reviews. Thank you so much everyone. Hope the summer is going good for you and I hope you've found something to fill those Sunday nights. **_

_**I don't know about you, but I am highly anticipating season 2. It can't possibly come fast enough (September 30**__**th**__**, for the record). **_

_**To DragonRose4: Well, I never intended to write for this pairing, so what do you know? It just…happened. I'm glad you like it, though. **_

_**To Twyla Mercedes: Yeah, that's Gold/Rumpel for you. Gotta love him. I'm sure Emma is on her way to purchasing some brain bleach right about now. And yes, I believe David would be the most difficult to fit in here, what with this love triangle. We'll see what happens. (-; **_

_**Until next time, lovely readers!**_


	25. Chapter 25

_**Chapter Twenty-Five**_

Snow flipped another page. And another, and another.

Stories unfolded before her eyes, accompanied by simplistic yet beautiful illustrations depicting their world and all those that inhabited it. The book in her hands was all about the Enchanted Forest. Even her story was in here—meeting Charming, the glass coffin, her wedding. It was…it was…

"Remarkable," she breathed in pure wonder as her fingertips sifted through to the next page. Her green eyes widened as years of stories blended together in strange gold script.

"I shall take that as a compliment, dearie," the snake-like voice slithered to her from the shadows of the cell. As he stepped into the light of the torches, he was grinning. The light danced off his eyes, making them seem even more mystical than before—molten gold.

Settled on the chilly, damp ground, Snow could only raise her eyes to him. And when she did, she blushed a rosy pink. That kiss was much too fresh in her mind; she could still taste him on her lips.

"What's wrong, Snow? Having pe_-cu-_liar thoughts?" Amusement rang out in his silky voice. He knew what she was thinking about and he was reveling in it. Averting her gaze to the book, her mind scrambled for some other thread of topic.

"This book is filled with…everything! So many stories. How do you know all this?" Rumpelstiltskin deflated in his enthusiasm. The only thing he offered her was a careless shrug.

"After living for centuries, I've become quite the observer," he said. _Centuries? _By his power, Snow guessed the dealmaker had been around for a while, but centuries? How could someone live alone for so long and not crave comfort?_ Maybe that's why he requested it in our deal. He's lonely._

Snow felt his intense eyes roaming down over her body, as if to prove his point. He was observing—look, don't touch. She allowed him to look as she scoured through a few earlier pages and frowned. Confusion spread over her face.

"You're not mentioned in this book," she pointed out.

The strands of Rumpelstiltskin's dark wiry hair hid most of his face as he slowly turned away from the bars. Turning away from her until all she could see of him was his leather-clad back. He waved a hand in dismissal.

"No one would be interested in _my _story. Why would they be when they could have castles and princesses and _happily ever after?"_ His voice rose in pitch as he mocked the stories that lay in her lap. Underneath it, though his pride was too great to show it, was hurt.

A pang of sympathy throbbed inside her. She animatedly leaned forward, closing the book as she did. The small flutter of pages made Rumpelstiltskin shift his head in her direction.

"Tell me your story," she asked softly. "Wasn't there ever someone that you loved?"

The dungeon was still and silent as she waited. Only Rumpelstiltskin's hitched breathing could be heard. He barely even looked at her now. Snow was almost sure he would refuse to answer.

"Yes," came the nearly inaudible reply. "Her name was Belle." And just like that, the dam broke and his story spilled from his dark lips.

Snow listened to every word, every angered syllable about a girl who had fallen for her captor. A beautiful, brilliant girl, according to him. Though he seldom expressed it in words, Snow could tell by the sweet longing in those golden eyes that the love was not unrequited.

It was possibly the saddest story Snow had ever heard. It was a story that, given his way, would never carry over to the world that awaited them.

…..

"Do you like apples?"

Henry and Mary Margaret walked side by side and were finally approaching the entrance to the school. It inevitably released an intense wave of nostalgia inside her. How many mornings had she spent among those kids?

"Henry, you already believe I'm Snow White," she reminded him gently, motioning to the heavy leather-bound book that never left his side. The only time she hadn't seen him with it was when he'd lost it once after that huge storm.

"I know," he replied, hugging the book closer to his chest. "I'm just…making sure." Mary Margaret smiled and ruffled his brown hair, only to have him smooth it down again.

"And to answer your question, I prefer pears to apples every time," she assured him. Not that she was expecting a poisoned apple to ever land on her kitchen table. Henry looked relieved and, not for the first time, she wondered if that book was hurting him more than helping him.

"So what are you doing with Mr. Gold?"

Mary Margaret fell silent and her gaze wandered to the groups of children playing in the schoolyard. Her hand touched her stomach for a brief moment as she remembered just how deeply she'd become involved with Storybrooke's most feared citizen. _They just don't know him like I do. _

"Mr. Gold likes pears," she feigned ignorance. She should have known Henry was too bright to be fooled by her evasion.

"That's not what I meant," he flatly insisted.

Once again, the hard seriousness of his tone belonged to someone older than his years, certainly not the little boy standing in front of her. Come to think of it, he reminded her of Emma—yes, there was the furrowed brow, the sharp honesty of his words, the scrunch of the nose whenever he was concentrating or grew frustrated.

Mary Margaret sighed and knelt before Henry so that she could look him straight in the eye.

"I know. Henry, sometimes…" Scratch that. Mary Margaret would spare him the 'hypothetical' terms of the adult world. "Sometimes things happen for a reason." Henry studied her intently, as if trying to read something else in her eyes.

"Do you love him?"

The direct question struck her speechless. It was hardly the type of inferring question she expected from a young boy, but then Henry was not like most young boys. The answer refused to come, especially since she knew Henry would weigh the answer heavily.

A cool breeze drifted around them and she pulled her blue coat tighter around her body. All the while, she reminisced about the moments she'd shared with Mr. Gold. The way he had first comforted her on the street with her hand resting on his arm; slowly dancing with him in the warmth of candles at the Miner's Day festival; sharing dinner with him; falling into his arms.

Mary Margaret's hand instinctively flew to the golden drop necklace around her neck—she never took it off. Those moments made her feel heady and dreamy; they had been almost…magical. But did that equal love?

"Maybe," she murmured softly. It was the best answer she could give at the moment. Despite Emma's paranoia, it wasn't as though she were saying 'yes' to marriage.

Henry opened his mouth, most likely revved up with another protest, but the bell rang. Children reluctantly stopped playing and hurried into the school. Mary Margaret straightened up and patted Henry on the shoulder, urging him forward.

"Hurry or you'll be late to class. You know how Miss Ginger feels about that," she told him. Surprisingly, Henry spun and threw his arms around her middle, the fairy tale book digging into her back. He squeezed his eyes shut as he hugged her. _Oh, Henry…_

"I wish you were still my teacher," he whispered into the soft blue of her coat. Mary Margaret gladly returned the hug and it somehow felt right. Maybe his theory that she was his grandmother was digging its hooks deeper.

"I do, too, Henry," she sighed before he broke away from her. His little face was slightly red and he looked like he did before Emma arrived. Unhappy, frustrated, alone.

Giving her one last mournful look, he began walking toward the school. Mary Margaret waved goodbye to him and felt water cloud her vision. _I suppose not all wishes can come true. _

"Aw, how sweet," a bitter voice mocked her from behind. Mary Margaret turned to meet the dark penetrating eyes of Madame Mayor herself. She wondered how long the mayor had been listening. Apparently, she wasn't too busy to eavesdrop.

"Madame Mayor," Mary Margaret politely addressed her. Regina's heels clicked coldly on the cement as she neared her. Amusement and belittlement dripped from her every move and facial twitch.

"Surely you're not here to beg for your job back. Is working for that manipulative bastard finally getting to you?" Regina spat out the word _'working'_, indicating their definitions differed greatly.

Mary Margaret stuffed he curled fists into her pockets. She refused to let the Mayor get the better of her. Not this time.

"I was just being a considerate person in walking Henry to school. Something came up with his mother at the last minute," she calmly replied, forcing a smile. Inside, her emotions churned like white-water rapids, dangerously close to the surface.

Regina pursed her red lips and crossed her arms angrily.

"Forgive me if I have a town to run, Miss Blanchard," she snapped. It was just one of Regina's quirks—she always assumed it was about her. Everything in this town was about her, wasn't it?

"I didn't mean you…Regina."

The Mayor's body lurched backward as if Mary Margaret had physically shoved her. The icy expression on her face only darkened even more, a black cloud of hatred thundering beneath her carefully constructed mask.

"Are you insinuating something?"

"Yes, I am," Mary Margaret instantly shot back. There was no fear in her this time, only pity. Pity for a woman who did not realize the meaning of happiness…and probably never would. "Your life must be filled with such incredible loneliness if your only joy comes from destroying everyone else's happiness. It's so sad, Mayor Mills, because despite what you think, it won't make you happy. It'll only leave a giant hole in your heart."

Mary Margaret shrugged and offered the Mayor a genuinely sympathetic look. Nobody deserved eternal unhappiness. Then there was that other saying: you could lead a horse to water, but you can't make it drink. Mary Margaret had spoken her piece and now there was one thing left to do: walk away.

Or, she would have had she not heard Regina's sudden cackle of laughter over her shoulder.

"You truly are pathetic, aren't you?" The Mayor's lip curled in a sneer. "You honestly believe you can be happy…with _him?_" Regina made it sound inconceivable, an abomination. Mary Margaret stiffened, only lightly brushing a protective hand over her stomach.

"And what if I am? He's not the one who has tried many times to cause me misery," she retorted confidently. If anything, Mr. Gold had done nothing but help her. Even through the mess with David, he had been there.

"As far as you know," Regina coolly muttered. Mary Margaret's brow furrowed with puzzlement. Was the Mayor grasping at straws to hurt her or was she insisting upon something else? _This is what I mean, Madame Mayor. You thrive on the unhappiness of others. _

Understanding spread over Regina's face—on the heels of that, a victorious smirk.

"Oh, so he _hasn't _told you? I suppose I can see the reason. Wouldn't want his precious little jewel to slip through his slimy fingers." Mary Margaret licked her lips tentatively despite the chill in the air. _Don't listen to her, Mary. She's just trying to get under your skin. _Emma would agree.

"Told me what?" She bit down on the inside of her cheek. She hated the idea of clamping down on the Mayor's dangling hook, but her curiosity was overwhelming. Regina smiled maliciously.

"Miss Blanchard, who do you think gave me the suggestion of convincing the school board to fire you?"

Every cell in Mary Margaret's body glazed over with ice. Even her heart stopped beating. Regina's brutal question echoed in her ears. _Who do you think…Miss Blanchard…gave me the suggestion…school board…fire you…_

No. It couldn't be right. He would never…would he?

"You're lying," Mary Margaret argued, but her voice faltered. Her lip quivered as uncertainty sprouted in her mind, a seed bursting upward into a forest. It was a virus, contagious to every pore of her body.

Regina chuckled and took a determined step forward, but Mary Margaret barely noticed.

"Are you sure about that?" Mary Margaret's mind was plagued with insinuating assumptions and accusations, each one more hurtful than the last.

Mr. Gold was the only one willing to hire her for a job. Coincidence? _No, that's because he's the only one unafraid of Regina's power. He was trying to help me…_

The day Regina informed her that she had been fired from teaching, Mr. Gold had been there…but he had left before Regina could speak a word about it. _Because he already knew what she was about to say? No, he must have been busy…He wouldn't…He would never…_

Would he?

Mary Margaret wished she could answer positively, wished she could find the answer and hurl it at Madame Mayor at the speed of lightning and then meet Mr. Gold for lunch and then everything would be okay, it had to be…

But she wasn't positive. Much as she hated it, there was that tiny inkling of doubt. And Regina knew that.

"Looks like the two of you have some catching up to do," Regina harshly mocked Mary Margaret before passing her by, leaving her standing alone in the empty schoolyard.

….

_**Oh, Regina. Sigh. Always has to make things more complicated, doesn't she? (-; **_

_**Once again, I want to thank all of those that are reading this and have given me lovely reviews. It means a lot, guys. So, thank you. **_

_**It might be a little bit before I can update next, but I'll work on it. **_


	26. Chapter 26

_**A/N: Hey, readers! I hope you're enjoying the last bit of your summer. I know I'm trying to wait patiently for OUAT Season One to come out-eight more days! Well, here's a little chapter for you. I hope everyone enjoys it. **_

_**Chapter Twenty-Six**_

It was almost closing time when Mary Margaret gathered the strength to enter the pawnshop. Streaks of orange sun illuminated the air around her, casting her elongated shadow across the floorboards. A numb sensation had invaded her nerves until she was merely acting on instinct, her brain befuddled by what she had yet to face.

Ever since her encounter with Regina, her brain had felt on the brink of exploding. Disconnected thoughts and memories had swarmed her mind, overwhelming her. For the next few hours, she had allowed her feet to lead her to the Toll Bridge, where she could settle on a boulder and sort out her thoughts. She ignored her ringing phone and hadn't rejoined the community until this very hour.

She had no idea what to expect from him—for all she knew, Regina was outright lying—but she could not put it off forever. She couldn't pretend it wasn't burrowing in the back of her mind. She had to know.

The shop was quiet as usual. Where it once gave her comfort and solace, tonight it unnerved her. The front of the shop was empty of life. With a deep breath to calm her senses, Mary Margaret circled the counter, drew back the black curtain and stepped into the backroom.

Mr. Gold was seated behind his desk, examining a piece of merchandise. It was a miniature paperweight in the shape of a donkey. She had never seen it before, but then again the shelves were crowded with unused antiques. His lips thinned in a line as his fingers rotated it, his brow etched with lines of concentration.

"You missed our lunch date, dearie," he informed her without preamble and without taking his eyes off the object in his hands. A pang of regret hit her heart. Mary Margaret had deeply considered meeting him for lunch, but she hadn't been ready to face him yet. And in front of the whole diner…

Her nerves jumped like fish out of water. She still wasn't ready.

Forcing a tight smile that nowhere reached her eyes, she dared to wander further into the room. The padding of her shoes was the only sound between them. Both of them seemed to have stopped breathing—Mr. Gold because he was awaiting her response, and her because it was much too difficult working her lungs.

"I'm sorry. I…"

She was about to mention Regina's presence this morning, which would have surely caught his undivided attention. It would have also sent him after the Mayor with his cane firmly in hand and she did not want to be the cause of such collateral damage even if Regina may have deserved it. Even now Mary Margaret was giving her a chance.

"I heard something strange while taking Henry to school. It might be just a rumor." Mr. Gold finally glanced up, his brown eyes penetrating into her very soul. The antique was long forgotten.

"And what is this rumor, exactly?" Mr. Gold set the antique squarely in the middle of his desk and clasped his fingers together. Curiosity brimmed off him, lapping at her skin. _Here goes,_ she thought, her posture growing stiff.

"I heard that someone might have given Regina the suggestion…of firing me from teaching." It was out in the open. No names mentioned. It was not necessary.

An unforgivable chill filled the space between them; she much preferred the thick silence that preceded it. Everything was frozen in time, Mr. Gold's tented fingers still as stone. Ever so slowly, his brown eyes traveled directly up to her accusing eyes. A lodge in her throat prevented her from breathing.

She waited for him to tell her that, yes, it was only a silly rumor despite the fact that it had come from Madame Mayor's mouth. Maybe even _because _it had come from her mouth. She waited for him to tell her it was ridiculous and that he would never hurt her so cruelly.

She waited…but it never came.

"Did you hear this rumor from Ruby?" He wasn't denying it, but he wasn't admitting to it, either. Mary Margaret's face turned a light pink as she envisioned Regina's sneer, her brutal words slicing into her heart and cutting to the bone. _Tell me she's lying. Tell me she's wrong. Tell me…_

"No," she whispered.

Those rich eyes, controlled and unreadable, burned her skin. It gave her the uncomfortable sensation of being under examination, of standing here stark naked before him. It was only a few feet from his desk, but it might as well have been an ocean apart.

"Ah, Regina then," he surmised, his jaw clenching. Regina's name was a nasty hiss from his mouth—she knew well that he wanted little to do with her unless it benefited him. Would convincing Regina to fire her benefit him? It had, hadn't it?

Mary Margaret crossed her arms tightly, if only to secretly comfort herself. It offered her protection from the answer to the question that was quickly surfacing from her throat. It burned like acid on her tongue. Her heart jumped into her throat with it, the beat of it striking against papery thin porcelain skin.

"Is she lying?" Mary Margaret studied his face intently, searching for some clue, any small clue pointing to the truth.

Moments passed and she was about to sigh with relief when—just there—a twinge of regret crossed his face. It had been quick as lightning, tightening the skin around his eyes, but it was there. Regret.

Mary Margaret's stomach plummeted, a steep rollercoaster spiraling to her toes. Suddenly, the air was too heavy and it was an impossible task to draw in a fresh breath. Whirling, she strode for the curtain.

Behind her came the screech of a chair, but her hands were already struggling with the black fabric, shoving it aside. Her breathing was hitched, her skin burning up near her neck. She was unaware that the tears had been coming until they were streaming down, a salty waterfall.

"Mary Margaret," came his rough, accented voice from just beyond the curtain, warning her to stop. He metal rings slid across the pole as the curtain billowed off to the left. The heavy thud of his cane matched the rapid pulsing of her aching heart as he hurried to catch up with her. "Mary Margaret, stop. Please."

She shouldn't have stopped. She should have listened to her instincts and kept going, straight through the door. She should have gone home, made herself a warm cup of coffee, and curled up on the couch.

As it were, her feet halted in the center of his shop, her muscles shaking with the sobs that were building like an active volcano. Swallowing it down, she turned to come face to face with him.

"This whole time, I thought it was Regina. All the misery I've endured these past months…It was because of you," she choked out. Her lip trembled and she raised a hand to her mouth to hide it. Her shoulders shook, though she fought to keep them steady.

"Mary Margaret, I—" He reached out a hand to touch her. There was pain in his eyes, or was that part of the act? Was that to convince her to drop her guard? To her great dismay, Regina's belittling voice floated through her head. _I suppose I can see the reason. Wouldn't want his precious jewel to slip through his slimy fingers. _

"Don't," she snapped and stumbled out of his reach. She had to reign in her emotions—she could not afford to fall into his arms again. How did Emma ever manage to construct her walls? "You watched me suffer and all you did was…was…"

She couldn't even finish that sentence. Flashes of their more intimate moments invaded her mind, each one sticking a blade through her lungs.

"The only reason I did it was to get close to you. Look how well it turned out for both of us," he reasoned with her. Mary Margaret removed the hand from her mouth and her lips parted in disbelief. _I did it. _He had finally admitted it…and he was praising it.

The happiness she had achieved with him was built on a lie. Hiring her was not coincidence—it was a move on the chessboard. Every caress of her skin, every kiss he had placed on her lips, every time they…Her green eyes sought out the display case where he had first taken her for his own. _Oh, God. _

"Emma was right. You took advantage of it! And if you really wanted to get to know me, you could have asked! I could have spent time with you. We could have had dinners and get-togethers and really fall in love."

Something inside Mr. Gold shifted and it suddenly felt like her body was hitting a brick wall. The lack of emotion in the depths of his eyes was the kind she'd seen one too many times in her dreams.

"I'm not that type of man, dearie. If that's the sort you're after, you'd be better off with David Nolan. A real charmer, last I heard," he mocked. It was his own type of security blanket, to avoid the obvious signs that her heart was breaking at his feet.

"Maybe…maybe I'm better off with neither of you," she murmured before backing away toward the door. A dry laugh followed her heels, startling her.

"That will certainly make our working environment awkward," Gold muttered just as her hand was curled around the handle.

She glanced over her shoulder at him—he was still in the same spot, anticipating her next move on the board. There was simply no way she could deal with this much torment and pain in her heart.

"No, it won't…because I quit." At the first sign of astonishment on his normally resigned face, Mary Margaret hauled open the door and fled into the night. She never looked back.

….

Emma arrived home tired and aching. And she smelled like pine needles. Not the car freshener type, but the pure scent of the woods.

Trusting August had been a mistake. His insane fairy tale talk still rang in her ears. _Because I, the town…Everyone needs you! You are our only hope. _Yeah, right. And then she had made the stupid lightning fast decision to try to run off with Henry, only to crash into a tree and have the car towed. Some night this was.

It was giving her a throbbing headache, right between the eyes. What she really needed was the warmth of her bed, soft pajamas, a shower, and a soothing hot drink. Not in that order.

"Mary Margaret?" The apartment was strangely quiet, save for the silvery clink of her keys as she discarded them on the table. Then a muffled sob arose from the direction of Mary Margaret's bedroom. Guard up, Emma strode to the bedroom and peered inside.

Mary Margaret was curled up on her bed, her reddened face buried in a pillow. Her delicate frame shook with the sobs she was trying to hold in. Green eyes puffy, the pillow clutched to her chest like it was her only saving grace.

_Oh, hell. _Emma's stomach plunged. This was exactly how Mary Margaret had been when she'd called it off with David after the news about their relationship had come out. It was then that she had suffered from a broken heart. _Oh, no. My night couldn't have just ended with August's lies, could it? _

"Mary Margaret?" Emma cautiously neared the bed. Her temper—despite having reached its peak earlier—was rising again.

Someone had obviously hurt her friend deeply and she wanted to know who it was and why. Mary Margaret sniffled and glanced up. A weak smile appeared on her trembling lips.

"Emma," she choked out, wiping her tears away with the back of her hand. Another sob and a creak of the bed as Mary Margaret pulled herself up. "It's okay. I'm fine." The tremor along Mary Margaret's body said otherwise.

"Really? Because a second ago you were crying into your pillow," Emma pointed out, gesturing to the damp stains on the pillow. She took a seat on the edge of Mary Margaret's bed and suddenly felt that she was comforting a child. Not her best feature, especially tonight. "Okay, what's going on?"

Mary Margaret's hand flew to her stomach and Emma's eyes jolted wide. For a moment, she was afraid Mary Margaret was going to tell her there had been a miscarriage. Just because she detested Gold didn't mean she'd wish that misfortune on anyone. _Oh, please, no. Anything but that. That kind of thing would tear Mary Margaret apart. _

"Mr. Gold," she whispered. Emma had to strain her ears to hear her. This wasn't something to do with the baby, then. She'd bet there was some kind of trouble in paradise, which somehow unsettled her even more. _Long overdue, if you ask me. Gold is nothing but trouble. _

"What about him?"

Her fists curled over the edge of the bed. This was her worst fear coming true. The fear that this little relationship with Gold was not what it seemed and that he would eventually do something to hurt Mary Margaret. She had known this would end badly.

"He…he gave Regina the suggestion to fire me. It was his fault." The words resounded in Mary Margaret's narrow bedroom, pounding away at Emma's brain. It gave her no consolidation to know her instinct had hit the bulls-eye.

Gold had used Mary Margaret. He had tempted Regina to rip away a piece of Mary Margaret's happiness to shreds. And then he'd gone and gotten Mary Margaret pregnant…It twisted her stomach in knots. _That disgusting, lying, vile…_

"He said it was so he could get close to me—" That was it. Emma was beyond hearing Mary Margaret's attempt to downplay her mournful situation. Her legs seemed to have a mind of their own as they charged for the apartment door, undoubtedly seeking a certain pawnshop.

"Emma!" Mary Margaret called out for her, but she was cut off by the slamming of the door. Oh, yes—this would be the ultimate finale of the night. Emma was already making a list of the ways she'd kill Gold. _He's gone too far this time. _

_..._

**_Le sigh. Regina is skilled at ruining everything, isn't she? Don't worry; she'll get her comeuppance yet. And hopefully she will on the show, too, now that Rumpel realizes that Belle is alive. Should make for an interesting conversation next time those two cross paths. _**

**_For now, I'd like to thank those that reviewed my story. I'm always eager to hear what people have to say about my story. It certainly helps the inspiration a bit. (-; _**

**_To Twyla Mercedes: Regina is so much fun to write. So deliciously evil and overboard to the extreme. Yes, we all love a bit of Gold, but you have to admit he is one sneaky man. Tsk, tsk. Thanks for reading!_**

**_To Lavender Leo: Aw, thank you for the awesome review. Obviously Rumpel does not realize how big his fanclub is. I'm glad you're enjoying the story, though! _**

**_Thank you everyone for reading! _**


	27. Chapter 27

_**Chapter Twenty-Seven**_

The bell chimed; a silvery short note. Brisk, confident steps approached the display case, the identity surfacing in his mind even though he had yet to glance up. He was never one to miss such trivial details.

It left a sour taste in his mouth as his brown eyes, previously poring over an old leather book, rose to meet a pair of intense green ones. Snow's eyes—it was his misfortune tonight that their brilliance was passed down to her daughter.

"Miss Swan," he flatly greeted. "To what do I owe the pleasure—"

Swiftly her hand whipped across his face before he could finish, meeting his jaw in a jarring slap. The thunderous sound of it resounded in his shop.

His head reeled sharply to the side from the impact, an angry outline of a handprint marring his skin. The cane fell away as he reached up to graze the stinging mark on his cheek. His fingers curled like talons—how dare she assault him in his own shop, his territory. Manners would do her well.

Part of him imagined snapping back an insult, restraining her arms and making sure she did not repeat the assault. A more logical nerve in his brain overruled it. Now was not the time to challenge Emma Swan, though he figured it might be too late to try to avoid having her as an enemy. That slap was in regards to Mary Margaret, of course.

"I suppose I deserve that," he muttered, rubbing his throbbing jaw.

There was a flash of rage in Emma's eyes and he read it like the book that lay open on his table: _Oh, you deserve a hell of lot more than that. Be grateful. _

God, there was quite the mean streak in her, wasn't there? An unwavering fierceness that only fell short to Regina's cruel intentions. Perfect shade of hardness for a savior.

"You disgust me," she spat at him, green eyes flaring with sheer loathing. He clenched his teeth to quell his own anger—that remark proved sorer than the slap. It baffled him so much that he wasn't aware Emma had circled the display case until she was charging straight toward him.

Unafraid, she dared to get right in his face, only an inch or two shorter than his height. He could practically hear her bones quivering with fury.

"How dare you hurt her like that. What kind of monster are you? Was that your plan all along? Convince Regina to fire her so that you could cast yourself as the knight in shining armor?"

As she stepped forward, he drew back, hopelessly trying to create some sort of distance between them. But Emma kept coming. Advancing on him like a skilled predator until his back collided with a shelf.

"Emma—" She wouldn't even hear it.

"What was it like for you, Gold? Huh? You figured you'd pretend to pick up the pieces for her? Hire her when no one else would? Just so you could…could screw her on top of your desk?" Emma was snarling at him, her lips curled in a sneer. The revulsion contorted her normally beautiful features. "And because of you, she's pregnant! Do you get off on that, too?"

A pause in the rant. Was she expecting him to defend himself?

"I was simply giving her an opportunity for happiness—"

Emma lifted her hand as if to slap him again, then seemingly changed her mind. That hand was now pointing directly in his face. If he lowered his gaze, he could just see the point of her fingernail aimed at his nose.

"Do you mean hers or yours? Don't you dare try to justify this, Gold. You took advantage of her and broke her heart," she accused him bitterly. So much for defending himself. If only she understood how sharp that dagger of regret was, how deeply it sliced.

He wiped his arm across his forehead, anxious lines creasing his skin.

"It's complicated to explain—"

"Then try," she roared back, her warm breath tingling his skin. Oh, how he wanted to tell her everything as it was, to make her see the truth that she'd been discarding…but this wasn't yet the proper time. It would ruin everything.

All he could do was stare gloomily at her until she lowered that pointed hand.

"It's…a long story," he murmured tiredly, darting his eyes over her shoulder for some form of escape. Twenty-eight years—hell, if he was being honest, _centuries—_and that shred of cowardice refused to shrivel and die.

"I have time," she retorted, her hands planting defiantly on her hips. A slight frown had grooved his lips. Would Emma listen to the unfolding of his story? Absolutely not. She'd think he was mocking her. Mocking Henry.

"You would not believe me if I told you," he wearily surmised, his hand gripping the edge of the shelf for support.

His leg was starting to ache something fierce. Sharp tendrils of discomfort jolted up, riding along his muscles until he groaned, but Emma held no sympathy. Her eyes narrowed cat-like as they would when assessing a threat. Or perhaps a bug that desperately needed squashing.

"Try me," she growled in a low voice. To his ears, it was almost a plea as the fight slowly drained out of her. Could he? Should he?

Ultimately, there was too much to risk. Silence was her reward.

"You're despicable. Stay the hell away from Mary Margaret. If you really care about her happiness, you'll leave her alone."

Emma spun on her heel and strode for the door, kicking his cane across the floorboards as she went. Ambling forward to scoop it up, he watched solemnly as she thrust open the door, the bell protesting and jiggling uncertainly.

"Emma, dearie—"

She halted in her tracks, her splayed hand on the door the only thing keeping it open. The deepening darkness beyond the threshold was such a contrast to her, it made her figure almost glow with a golden aura.

"Let's get one thing straight, Gold. I'm not your 'dearie." The door slammed after her, ricocheting in his ears for quite some time afterward.

….

Regina was happy. Happier than she'd been in a while, anyway. A brilliant smile was glued on her face as she confidently swept up the path to her home. Honestly, she was about to break into a little song and dance. Maybe she'd settle for treating herself to a glass of apple cider and a warm soak in the tub.

And didn't she deserve it? Look at what she'd accomplished in the span of a day. That heartless Snow White's happiness had crumbled, exploded right in her face without warning. More than that, she'd pulled the carpet from under Rumpelstiltskin's feet, hitting two birds with one stone.

All in a day's work.

Regina hung up her overcoat by the door and wiped her feet on the black mat of the threshold before burrowing deeper into her home. Why was it so dark in here? Usually, Henry kept at least one light on for her.

Shadows clung to every corner, sending a sliver of apprehension along her spine. Hah! She was not going to be made a coward in her own home. How ridiculous.

Stopping in the kitchen, she found a half-filled bottle of red wine in the fridge. Pouring herself a nice glass of it, she shook off her heels and ascended the stairs. She sipped the drink and licked it off her teeth. Delicious.

Even the upstairs hall was dim. What kind of a welcome home was that from her son? Not to worry, though—she knew every inch of this place like the back of her hand. It was her house, her domain, her kingdom.

Regina ignored Henry's closed bedroom door and headed for her private office. Shutting the door behind her, she sighed blissfully. It was good to be home. Except for the fact that it was dark in here, too. How depressing.

Reaching for the lamp nearest to her, she was careful not to spill her drink as she switched it on, bathing the room in light. That was better.

"Good evening, Regina." Startled, Regina whirled in the direction of the unmistakable silky voice. Wine sloshed from her glass, splattering on the cold marble floor. The breath left her lungs as her eyes connected with those of the intruder.

Gold occupied the chair behind her desk, his expensive leather shoes propped up on top of the desk. And her paperwork. He looked like he had been idly waiting for her arrival. It royally pissed her off.

"What the hell are you doing in my house? Get your filthy feet off my desk," she snapped, glaring daggers at him. If she was lucky, a dagger would literally pierce his slimy, black heart. Oh, that all-knowing smirk of his was getting on her nerves.

"Say the magic word, dearie," he drawled, always collected. There was a dangerous note underneath his smooth Scottish accent that her ears might not have picked up, if it weren't for the intense way he was devouring her every move. _Please._

And all at once, she knew his reason for being here.

"Where is Henry?" She fought to keep her voice calm as she deliberately stalled.

The wine glass was all but forgotten in her grip. He had better tread carefully. Any angrier and she just might cram this wine glass down his throat, down into his lungs. It wouldn't be the worst thing she could do. Maybe she'd even be doing the town a favor.

Gold chuckled deeply and waved his hand carelessly in her direction.

"Fear not, Your Majesty. Little Henry is fast asleep in his bed. Let's not wake him, shall we?" Regina's body stiffened as she imagined what it would take to wake her son. Harsh obscenities? Violent noises mixed with screams of pain? Tempting.

Gold lowered his feet from her desk, his behavior abruptly becoming serious. Her lips pressed together in a tight frown as she awaited what she ultimately knew was inevitable.

"You broke your deal," he hissed, his brown eyes burning darkly beneath a strand of his gray-streaked brown hair. Regina raised her chin defiantly. She refused to show weakness to this disgusting imp. "Where are my manners? _Please…_sit."

He was pointing at the chair opposite him, daring her to provide fealty to his command. She set the wine glass down next to the lamp and crossed her arms under her breasts. Not this time.

"No."

It was barely a whisper, but she knew he heard. Nothing got past that bastard. Even now his eyes were narrowing a fraction of an inch, his fingers curled even tighter around his cane until the bone shone through his knuckles, his jaw clenched with fury.

And then he laughed. It wasn't jovial by any means. It was harsh, cruel laughter that sent a chill running through her veins.

"Forgive me, Regina. For a moment there…I thought I heard you say no. That word is not in your vocabulary when it concerns me, dearie. We both know that."

A warning flashed through those malicious brown eyes. What did Snow White ever see in this imp? He was a monster at best.

Something inside her snapped. In a mere second, she strode across the room and slapped her hands down on the desk, leaning toward him until their faces were mere inches apart. A sneer marred her lips as she stared into the depths of his unforgiving eyes.

"Get this through your head, you pathetic imp. This is _my_ happy ending, not yours. You don't control me here. You have no power. Your words, your contracts…they mean nothing to me. In this world, I win." She smiled cruelly as she watched his face grow darker with every passing word. "What are you going to do about it? Turn me into a snail and crush me?"

That hand holding his cane quivered with rage. Would he beat her senseless like Moe French? Too bad she wasn't that easy to break. He, on the other hand, had his weaknesses. What would he do if he knew of her little secret in the hospital basement?

"Let's not forget, dearie._ I_ am the one who created this curse…and I can also be the one to end it if I wish," he snarled. Regina scoffed boldly. He was bluffing. She'd bewildered him with her sudden show of rebellion against his precious deals.

"And what makes you think your little savior will be so willing to believe and break your curse after all the damage you've caused to that self-righteous harlot of yours?"

Abruptly, Gold rose to his feet, meeting her halfway. She had the urge to spit in his face, show him how much he really meant to her. Without looking away, his arm snaked out for an apple from the bowl on her desk and he cradled it like a jewel.

"I would not underestimate Miss Swan if I were you, Regina. She might prove to be more powerful than you know." Slowly he raised the apple until it was hovering between them. The light caught its red skin, making it shine.

"For the record, I did not break my deal with you. You asked me not to _do_ anything to harm Miss Blanchard again. You never mentioned I could not say anything that would have the same effect. I was simply informing her of what someone else has done to hurt her. You."

This seemed to make him angrier. She knew how much he hated it when his customers found loopholes in his contracts, wiggled their way out of owing him. According to him, he only broke one deal in his lifetime. _I'd sure love to know which one that entailed. _

"Ah, learning the trade, are we? About time." He was mocking her. It made her teeth ache. He set the apple squarely down on her desk, right in the center atop her papers. "Get this through _your _head, Your Majesty. If you ever harm her again, in any possible way, the incident with Moe French will seem like a passing daydream."

Regina reared her head back as he tossed the implication her way. This was her home, damn it! This was her sanctuary, where she was allowed to escape this torment.

"Are you threatening me?" He leaned forward until she could smell the slight scotch of his breath and the hint of elegant cologne on his impeccable suit.

"If that is what makes you happy," he muttered.

Pulling back, he paused to slide his cane up into his hand. For a moment, she feared he would bring it down over her head. Instead, he slammed it over the apple, splitting into pieces. Juice stained her papers and desk, chunks went flying into her hair.

Regina stared at the mess in horror as Gold casually made his way around the desk. He only lingered once, beside her. Her lips curled over her teeth in a harsh snarl.

How dare he come into her home and threaten her this way! He'd be lucky if she didn't alert Sheriff Swan.

"For that matter, you'd do well not to underestimate me, either." His footsteps tapped against the marble and then she heard the sound of light sipping. Was he honestly helping himself to her wine? Foul, loathsome, evil little cockroach. "I must say. The wine is delicious…but I prefer white myself."

Her mouth dropped open in shock as he downed the entire glass and removed a slip of cloth to dab at his lips. Smirking, he swiftly vanished through the office door. Frozen, she listened intently as the front door opened and closed.

Rushing to the window, she peered through the blinds to watch Gold walk down the path. On the sidewalk, his eyes glanced up once to meet hers. And then the darkness swallowed him like it was welcoming its favorite child.

That rude, inconsiderate fool. Who did he think he was, controlling her like a puppet? Please this and please that.

Regina was the one with the power, not him. And she was going to prove it.

…

She had to leave.

She had to get out of this apartment before her will to stay inside it grew too demanding. She knew she couldn't stay here forever, but she was putting up a good fight, wasn't she?

All she'd done for the past day or so was lounge around her apartment and try to ignore the endless throbbing in her chest. Even Emma had noticed the turmoil she was trudging her feet through, but she was Storybrooke's sheriff. The town needed her—Emma couldn't stay here to babysit her.

Begrudgingly, Mary Margaret rose from the bed and meandered to the bathroom. Closing the door, her hands gripped the sides of the sink and she forced herself to gaze at the reflection in the mirror.

Mary Margaret hardly recognized the woman staring back at her. That couldn't be her, could it? Puffy red eyes, sore from crying. Mussed black hair in tangles from being flattened on her pillow. Pale skin and dry, chapped lips. Wasn't she a sight?

Oh, yes. It was time to leave, to step outside and rejoin Storybrooke. It was only a broken heart, after all. It wasn't the end of the world. Squaring her shoulders, Mary Margaret nodded to her reflection.

_Okay, Mary. You can do this. No more tears or feeling sorry for yourself. So what if David turned out to be a mess and the only other person you convinced yourself you can be happy with is the one that caused you misery? So what if you're carrying his child and you're once again unemployed? Never mind that. You're going to be strong, put on a brave face. Okay. _

It made her feel a tiny bit more confident. Washing down her face and combing through her hair, she almost believed she was better. As if it was any other day. _I can do this. _

Mary Margaret changed into clean clothes—a familiar dress and light cardigan. She only managed to swing open the apartment door when her feet froze in place. There, sitting delicately right on the doormat was a pear.

Mary Margaret eyed it curiously, a thousand questions bubbling deep inside her mind. What was a pear doing here? Who left it there? And was it still good enough to eat?

The sunlight drifted over the pear's green skin and Mary Margaret could not resist bending down to lift it into her palm. The skin was nearly flawless and smooth under her fingers, a tiny leaf sprouting on the stem. If she received any fruit, she would have expected it to be an apple.

Apple.

With a click of a deadbolt in her mind, a memory wiggled free and made its way to the surface. All at once, she knew exactly who had given her the pear. _Do you like apples? To answer your question, I prefer pears to apples every time. _

Henry.

Just…yesterday? Had it only been yesterday that her building happiness had crushed around her feet? In any case, Henry had been the one she had told about her liking for pears as they had stood in front of the school.

A bright smile found its way to Mary Margaret's lips as she gently cradled the pear. Henry had given this to her, no doubt about it. He was so sweet, trying to cheer her up. Emma should be lucky to have him.

The sight of the pear tempted her taste-buds. This would be the perfect opportunity to locate that old streak of happiness inside her, to find the strength to face the day ahead. It was a good sign.

So Mary Margaret shrugged and stopped resisting her craving. She brought the pear to her lips.

And she took a bite.

….

"Henry?"

The walkie-talkie crackled in her hand, omitting static. She was sure it was on the right channel. Emma had left the walkie-talkie at home today. Mary Margaret suspected it was because she was in turmoil herself about what to do with Henry.

"Mary Margaret? I mean, Ms. Blanchard," Henry's excited voice issued over the other end. She had to smile at his modesty.

"It's alright, Henry. With Emma living here, you're practically like family, anyway. At least, it feels that way," she assured him kindly. Leaning against the island in her kitchen, Mary Margaret rolled the half-eaten pear in her palm. He really was a nice boy.

"Yeah, practically," he laughed. Oh, that's right. Henry's theory included the fact that she was his grandmother. She was a little young to be a grandmother, wasn't she? But if she ever was his grandmother, she supposed she wouldn't mind. "Is Emma there?"

"No, she's not. She left the secret walkie-talkie here," she sadly informed him. Before he could complain about that, she rushed forward. "I just wanted to thank you for the pear. It was nice of you." Mary Margaret took another bite of the juicy pear, the tangy taste teasing her tongue.

Silence filtered through the walkie-talkie. Was Henry still there?

"Henry?" The walkie-talkie crackled to life again, mixed with Henry's quick breathing.

"What pear?" Mary Margaret's brow furrowed as she started to raise the pear to her lips again. That was strange. Did Henry not recall leaving it on her doormat?

"The pear you left for me outside my door this morning. Remember? I prefer pears to apples?"

A web of uncertainty stretched along her spine. Her instincts were becoming louder; shrill alarms rang out inside her head. Déjà vu swept over her, though she couldn't pinpoint the reason.

"Don't eat that!" Henry's voice screeched urgently, as though the matter were life or death. What had made him so upset? It was only a harmless pear. Henry _had_ been the one to leave it for her, hadn't he? If not…then who?

The answer hit her like a bucket of ice water, sending sharp pins and needles shooting through her veins. There was only one other person who could have overheard her talking with Henry and the mention of pears. Only one who would have no qualms to mock her, belittle her, or even now…hurt her.

Regina.

The pear tumbled from her grasp, rolling and bouncing awkwardly over the floorboards. What was Regina trying to do to her? Send her a message? Wasn't ruining her hope of happiness enough?

"Mary Margaret?" Henry's frantic calling pulled her away from her reverie. It was amazing she was still holding tightly to the walkie-talkie.

"Henry, I—"

It was the only thing she could manage to say before the breath lodged in her lungs. Pain twisted inside her stomach and spiraled down between her legs. Gasping, Mary Margaret pressed a hand to her belly and bent at the waist to staunch the agony. Tears brimmed her eyes and black spots danced in her vision as the world spun.

Something was terribly wrong.

Oh, God. It hurt so much.

She couldn't even draw in a breath for fear that another wave of crimson pain would overwhelm her. A cold sweat broke out over her forehead. In a minute, she could faint away to the floor. Knees buckling, head growing light…

"_Mary Margaret!" _

Gradually, her sense of hearing returned as the pain ebbed. She'd dropped the walkie-talkie to grab the edge of the table for support. Her spine tingled and a bead of sweat rolled over her cheek. Or was it a tear? _Okay. Take slow, easy breaths. In, out. _

She collapsed onto the floor and scrambled for the walkie-talkie. Her eyes happened to fall to the spot between her legs as they writhed and…oh. Oh, God...was that….blood? Mary Margaret lightly touched two fingers to the spot and her skin was suddenly tainted red. Oh, it was so sore down there.

"Henry," she gasped, her voice raw and trembling weakly. Any moment, the pain could return. "You need to listen to me. Please, run to the station. Find Emma. Tell her…something is wrong…"

Oh. Oh, here it comes. The tide was coming back in. Rising, higher and higher, drowning her…

Mary Margaret squeezed her eyes shut as another wave curled through her abdomen, this one ten times more intense than the last. She didn't know if she screamed or not. It blind-sided her, the cool floorboards meeting her burning cheek. The walkie-talkie clattered away, the static and Henry's anxious shouts lost on her.

_What…what's wrong with me? What has she done? _

Tucking her legs up to her chest in the fetal position, Mary Margaret bit her lip to keep from crying out. Salty tears streamed down her face. The metallic taste of blood purged her mouth—she'd bitten her tongue.

The world around her grew hazy at the edges, the pain too great to fight off. Her nerves dulled, the feeling in her arms and legs no longer there. She was hanging by a thread. _Oh, please hurry, Henry. Please. _

…..

Heart pounding, impossible to move. Tendrils of searing pain in her belly. Sticky warmth between her legs. Shadows glazing her vision.

_Click. _The door. Emma? No strength to call out. Footsteps: _clack, clack, clack, clack. _Heels. Mocking laughter, a black figure looming above her. Death?

Ruby red mouth splitting, dark eyes shining. Black diamonds, just as sharp. A splash of color: green. Yellow-green, the shade of the leaves on the cusp of fall. The pear.

Oh, it hurt so much.

A shift of fabric, those sharp diamonds descending over her. _Please._

"Where is your imp now?"

….

_Beep. Beep. Click. _

_"Storybrooke General Hospital. How may I help you?" _

_"This is Sheriff Swan. I need an ambulance sent to Mary Margaret Blanchard's apartment immediately. That's 11 Stealth Street, apartment number 7." _

_"Sheriff, what is the state of your emergency?" _

_"I found her on the kitchen floor. Barely breathing…she's not waking up. Oh, God, there's blood everywhere. It's on the floor and…I think it's coming from her abdomen. The baby—" _

_"We're sending an ambulance to your location. Would you mind staying on the line until it arrives? Sheriff?" _

_"Hurry, damn it!" Pump, pump. Breathe…"Mary Margaret, breathe!" _

_Barely breathing…not waking up…_

_Oh, God, there's blood everywhere._

…_.._

_**Two more days until the Season One DVD. Sorry—I am simply excited because it will at least take the edge off of waiting for Season Two. Which is in a month. **_

_**Le sigh. Such cruel cliffhangers. **_

_**I would, of course, like to thank all those that are reading and leaving me kind reviews. It gives me something to look forward to. **_

_**To Twyla Mercedes: Don't worry—I never throw in a plot twist unless I am completely certain about what I plan to do with it. I'm just the conniving, planning-ahead type of writer. Also, your review for Sunshine gave me a little inspiration for the next chapter (concerning the L word). Since the next chapter is centered around Skin Deep (and therefore Valentine's Day), who knows? Maybe one of them will reveal their ultimate feelings. Kind of a tricky situation, seeing as how they're both a little hard-edged and difficult to love. Thank you for the review, regardless. **_

_**To mafer-torres-714: Sorry about the dashes; fanfic doesn't seem to like the dots in your name. Your review made me laugh when I read it. Yes, I am quite the manipulative writer, aren't I? Making you fall under my spell with these stories! Mwahahaha…*cough cough*…Wow. And you're a Rumbelle shipper? I certainly appreciate the support, dearie! **_

_**To Bittersweet Lunatic: Thank you for both of your reviews. It makes me glad to know the readers are enjoying it and praising it. Heh, it's not easy working with Snow and Rumpel as a couple. And Emma and Gold are tricky as well. But thank you for the great review and I hope you keep reading! **_


	28. Chapter 28

_**A/N: Just a simple chapter for my readers. Still, I hope everyone likes it. **_

"Mary Margaret? Mary Margaret, can you hear me?"

The voice was faint, rustling like dry leaves skittering across cold cement in fall. Her ears strained to catch it again, but it was gone. Stomach cramping. Eyelids heavy—her eyes refused to open.

All she wanted was to slip back into sleep. So, she did.

It must have been hours later that she awoke to a room of white. Or had it only been minutes? It was so bright; it hurt to try to open her eyes to it. Oh, God…had she somehow _died? _Was this what people so often saw when hanging on death's door?

The white started to dissipate and her heart settled with it. No, she wasn't dead. It was okay. She was in a hospital room. Yes, the smell of the crisp, sterile sheets and antiseptic were clogging her nostrils. But why? Why was she here?

Slowly, fuzzily, the pieces flowed back to her. The pear…biting into it…pain in her belly…blood…_Oh, God, there's blood everywhere…_

"Mary Margaret?"

A familiar voice called to her from the foot of the hospital bed. Emma. Oh, she must have been a nervous wreck, though she'd be too stubborn to admit to it. How long had she been sitting here, waiting for her to wake up? Hours? Days?

Blinking, Mary Margaret forced her eyes to seek out Emma, hunched over the rail at the end of the bed.

Relief visibly passed over her face, a thin smile on her lips. It didn't even come close to her eyes, eyes that were oddly as green as Mary Margaret's. Circles darkened her lower eyelids—Emma had probably seen worse days, but this must have been a contender.

"How are you feeling?" Concern filtered through her normally hard-edged voice. Mary Margaret opened her mouth to answer with 'fine', but she knew it would be a lie. Resting her head back on the pillow, she concentrated on her body's signals.

How did she feel?

A deep ache purged her belly and it felt chillingly hollow, like she'd been fasting for the past two weeks. Tingling sensations shot through her toes and fingers as she urged them to move. Her throat was sore and it was an effort to lift her head from the pillow.

"I feel like…I've been hit by a truck," she croaked. Raw and raspy. Emma walked over to the right side of her bed and held out a glass of water for her. It had a bendy straw in it. Mary Margaret sucked the water down gratefully and swished it around her gums.

"You weren't hit by a truck," Emma assured her with little humor. She sounded tired, worn out. Underneath that: regretful. Sad. "It's hard to explain. We…were worried about you."

She paused to set the glass of water down on the bedside table. Even so, it was hard to miss the way Emma's eyes glared at something on Mary Margaret's left.

"We?" Her head gradually shifted on the pillow to meet the eyes of the person lingering by her bedside. A pair of rich brown eyes that she had on more than one occasion fallen into.

Mr. Gold. She hadn't seen him since their argument in his shop. Last she heard, Emma had slapped him. Hard.

"Did you expect I would not come, dearie? Or worse…that I would not care?" Her heart ached as she gazed longingly at him. Those brown eyes were captivating her again. And he was here…sitting by her bedside? There was a greater reason for his presence, wasn't there?

"What happened?" Instinctively, her arm dragged across the breezy hospital gown to her stomach. Her aching, hollow stomach. _No. _"What happened…to the baby?"

"Mary Margaret," Emma tried catching her attention. Possibly to explain why she was lying in a horribly bare hospital gown and how there wasn't even the slightest weight in her abdomen to suggest another human being stretching and growing in her womb.

But Emma didn't need to explain—it was not the Sheriff that Mary Margaret turned to for the answer. Her eyes latched onto Gold, searching his face for the slightest inkling of news. He averted his gaze, but she already read the pain etched there. The air was trapped inside her lungs, she couldn't breathe…

"No," she whispered, begging for it to be anything but the truth. It had to be a mistake. Anything but that. Anything. "No, please. The baby…"

"…is gone," he muttered.

His voice was almost inaudible. And yet the words bounced off the walls and repeated louder and louder until her eardrums wanted to explode. _Gone. The baby…is gone. _Something inside her crumbled and suddenly she was choking back a wave of sobs into her pillow. A gentle hand—Emma's—rubbed her trembling back.

"I'm so sorry, Mary. We don't even know what happened in the apartment. Whale thinks you might have fallen the wrong way—" Mary Margaret swallowed her wracking sobs and jerked up in the bed. Furiously, she wiped away the tears from her reddened cheeks.

"I never fell! That's not what caused it," Mary Margaret protested through the sobs. She sniffed and rubbed her face with the back of her hand. Gold still wasn't looking at her, as if it were too difficult. Or was he afraid of the torment he'd find?

"Did you talk to Henry?" Henry knew the truth. Of course he did.

Little pieces of their conversation ebbed across her mind. Emma frowned, her hands gripping the rail of the hospital bed.

"He came running to the station. He talked so fast—all I caught was the fact that you needed help. I dropped him off at his house before checking on you. He kept repeating something about a pear. What ever happened to poisoned apples?"

Mary Margaret's heart soared and she almost lurched straight up in bed as the rest of the conversation hit her. Yes, how could she forget? Henry's panic-filled voice haunted her. _Don't eat that! Mary Margaret!_

"The pear," she hissed as she clamped onto Emma's arm, frantically shaking it. "The pear! It's still in the apartment! It's what caused…this!" She couldn't bring herself to accept that term yet. Miscarriage. Even in her mind, it sent a shiver down her spine.

In the periphery of her vision, Gold's head lifted. She was certain the wheels were spinning in his head. He had to know, he had to understand. And now Emma's brow was furrowed with serious thought.

"Mary, there was no pear," she said almost hesitantly. Her voice was tainted with confusion. Mary Margaret stiffened and frowned. Her grip loosened on Emma's arm. What was she talking about? Of course it was there! It had to be!

"No, it is! The pear rolled out of my hand after I bit it, after the pain started." Emma wasn't listening; she was shaking her head negatively. Why was she doing that? "Emma, it was on my doormat. I took it because I thought it was from Henry—"

"Mary," Emma sighed, but Mary Margaret was on a roll. The emotions were building, a wave too powerful to intercept.

"And I bit it. I talked to Henry on the walkie-talkie, but he said he never left it for me—"

"Mary."

"And then the pain started and Emma, it hurt so much. Henry heard what happened, you can ask him—"

"Mary Margaret!" Emma snapped and Mary Margaret fell quiet. Why wasn't Emma listening? Didn't she see that this wasn't just a coincidence? "Mary, I found you on the kitchen floor. Alone. There was you and the walkie-talkie. There was no pear. There was nothing else!"

Emma's eyes were gleaming like diamonds, or maybe more like the surface of a clear river about to be disrupted by a pebble. Her hand trembled violently as she squeezed Mary Margaret's hand in a forced show of comfort. As the meaning sunk in, Mary Margaret fell back against the bed.

Nothing else. No pear.

"But…but she…" She. The magic word.

Both pairs of eyes burned into her at that moment and Emma's face regained its hard quality. Her lips thinned unpleasantly and anger flushed her neck. Red almost the shade of her infamous leather jacket.

"She?" It was bitter and distasteful…and it came from Gold.

Mary Margaret glanced over at him and noticed the rage simmering just beneath the brown surface. A cold feeling seeped into her bones as she realized what she'd just done. Oh, God, he was going to kill Regina. Slowly. Then again, if he didn't get to her first, Emma would.

She didn't know which fate would be worse for the Mayor.

"Mary—" Emma's tone was raw and unforgiving. She didn't need to look to know that Emma would be dealing with a brutal onslaught of anger. To kill Regina or not kill Regina…that was the question. "Did you bolt the door after I left?"

The deadbolt.

The one that August had installed on their apartment door to keep Regina from gaining entrance.

After Emma had left…she had found the pear and had been too surprised by it to double-check the door before biting into it. It had been unlocked, which meant Regina only needed one of her fabled skeleton keys that Emma had mentioned in order to step inside. A vampire given its invitation.

Emma inclined her head. The silence had given her the answer.

"Emma, could you give us a minute?" Mary Margaret tilted her head toward Gold.

Her cheeks were still warm, but the tears had slowed. Was she in shock? It was so hard to wrap her mind around this trauma. She and Gold had things to discuss. As expected, Emma's eyes narrowed distrustfully.

"Please," Mary Margaret practically begged. Emma looked like she wanted to argue, but she nodded and slipped from the room. Out to shop for a pitchfork, no doubt. Or maybe to reacquaint herself with that chainsaw.

A tense silence settled between them as the door closed. It seemed neither of them had the courage or the wisdom enough to break it. Every now and then, Mary Margaret's chest would abruptly rise with a sob.

Where did she even begin? It was so much easier to talk to him before their fallout.

"You could have protected me." Gold's head rose and he uneasily studied her gentle face.

At first, he thought it was an accusation; that she was condemning him for not being there to prevent it. But then he registered the surge of sadness building behind her carefully constructed porcelain features.

"Mary Margaret, I—" Gods, this was hard to deal with. It weighed on his shoulders like an immovable boulder. The last time his insides had ached this bitterly was the night he'd released Belle from his castle. Centuries before that, Bae had fallen into that pitiful swirling vortex.

"If I hadn't broken it off with you, I might have gone home with you. When I'm with you, I'm protected. Regina can't hurt me." Her face was turned away from him on the pillow, but a tear rolled across her skin. He longed to brush it away.

She was blaming herself, not him. She regretted turning her back on the utmost source of protection and therefore took her chances with Regina's wrath.

"Protecting you, that's…that's not the reason I did it," he admitted, letting his head hang.

Of course, he would have protected her, but the main reason was because he had been selfish. Taking what he wanted like the monster he was. Because he wanted—no, needed—her close to him in this world.

"Maybe not, but it was one of the benefits, wasn't it?" She sniffed and reached out to touch the hand resting on his cane. Those green eyes were tormenting in their grief. "I think of all the things Regina could have done to me these last few months. It's true she set me up for murder, she made everyone in town including David turn on me, and she exposed my relationship with you…but you were there. Regina could have done so much worse, except you were there."

It gave him an empty feeling to listen to her undeserving praise for what they had. And what did they have, really? A business matter alongside the river and a messy relationship besides. They could not even hope for greater commitment, thanks to Regina.

Maybe this was why he was hanging his head. Maybe he knew he did not deserve it. All he could imagine was the way she had looked at him in his shop, as if he were the last person she'd ever desire. A monster.

"Do you still hate me?" What was he asking? Of course she would.

That moment in his shop had been the beginning of the end—she had finally seen what everyone else realized first. And now she would pull her hand away because she would be reminded of the truth. Any moment now.

But her delicate hand was still there. In fact, there was the slightest pressure—she was squeezing his hand. Why was she daring to mock him? To give him false hope?

The hospital bed groaned as she shifted closer to the edge, closer to him. He could almost feel the warmth of her body emanating between them, tempting him to peek at her. Was that a smile on her lips? A weak one, but it was there.

"Even when I was standing in your shop and it was clear you had pushed Regina to fire me, I never hated you. I think…I wanted to. I knew I should. But the anger didn't last long. If anything, I pitied you." Pity? That was only a step above disgust. And apparently, he was not yet spared.

"For someone who is so desperate for comfort that they would do anything for it, someone who wants to know he's not just a monster. You try to be, and maybe you've convinced yourself. But you're not." She smiled at him and finally withdrew her hand. "I'm still upset over our argument, but this…what Regina's done to me is so much worse."

He couldn't argue with that point. In his mind, Regina already had a tombstone waiting for her. It was bad enough she'd miraculously had the guts to stamp her heel down on his special word.

Despite what Mary Margaret thought, he wouldn't hurt Regina yet. He'd bide his time for the opportune moment.

"It's not your fault," he whispered to her, his fingers wrapping almost painfully around his cane. Was it just him or was there a flicker of doubt in her eyes? "She will not walk away from this. Trust me, dearie. This time, Regina has gone too far."

Swallowing his fury, he rose from the chair and set his sights on the door. Before he could take a step, Mary Margaret's light hand grabbed onto his, a surprisingly firm weight that bound him to her side.

"Stay with me," she pleaded.

Glancing down at her, he saw the tears beginning to build beneath her eyelids again. Her chest rose and fell, though the occasional quiver sent a gasp through her throat. The best thing for her would be to walk away, to leave her be. Let that fool David Nolan come in here and sweep up the pieces of her heart.

But as he had come to accept so long ago, he was quite selfish.

Dipping his head, he sunk back into the chair and brought Mary Margaret's hand to his lips to press a kiss to her skin. It was a silent promise—as long as she wanted him, he would not leave her for a moment.

….

_**Only a month or so until season 2! Though I certainly wish the wait were already over. Of course, I also have my reviewers to thank. Thank you everyone who is reading this story and enjoying it. That's all I can really hope for. **_

_**To DragonRose4: Thank you for the support, as always. And this is Once Upon A Time—apparently, everyone missed the memo about not eating the Evil Queen's fruit. (-; **_

_**To Twyla Mercedes: Yeah, it was a difficult decision for me to make, but the upside is that Regina has definitely caused Mary Margaret more pain than Gold has. That woman will do almost anything to get what she wants. Maybe that's why it's so much writing her. **_

_**Thank you everyone for reading! Until next time!**_


	29. Chapter 29

**_Chapter Twenty-Nine_**

_Where am I? _

_There was no dungeon this time. _

_Gone were the musty, cracked walls; the putrid smell of decay; the jagged jaws of a cell built for a powerful being that was not quite man. Instead, it was a castle she dreamed herself into. Not like a tourist site in Ireland or the iconic colorful Cinderella's castle in Disneyland. _

_This was a real castle with elegant marble staircases and ancient stone walls meant for strength and withstanding the test of time. There were stained glass windows flooding the room with rainbows and doors that required all her strength to open. The ceiling stretched high above her head. She was certain there was even a dungeon with shackles and the ghosts of long-past prisoners. _

_And yet…it somehow resonated with her. It nudged some old memory from the depths of her mind: I've been here before. _

_She let her feet guide her dreamily up the steps—she was being drawn to something. Someone was here. Was it that mystical man again? Was this his home? _

_There were two hallways on either side of her, both containing rooms that no doubt held magnificent beds and lack of indoor plumbing. She ignored the hallway to her left and instead ventured to the right—to a set of stairs embedded in the wall. _

_It led to a tower; she instinctively knew. Closing her eyes, she could picture it perfectly. There would be a round room filled with books, a window to let in the morning sun, and a grand spinning wheel that would spew strands of gold. _

_How did she know that? She had only ever dreamed of the dungeon and the river. Never a castle. _

_Still, she ascended the stairs and saw that her vision was correct in every way. Except there was one thing her mind had left out. He was here. Standing near a table with his back facing her, working on…something. Would he be upset that she was invading his sanctuary? Or was he already expecting her? _

_Wordlessly, she drifted up the steps and crossed the room. Ah, there was the spinning wheel, just as she imagined. She could picture his slender golden fingers smoothly turning it and handling the lengths of straw. _

_Wait. Straw? Nobody had the ability to spin straw into gold except…perhaps Henry's theory of fairytales had snuck into her subconscious. _

_She was a foot away now. She could smell the earthy scent of him and could almost peer over his shoulder. He never turned as she shifted to catch view of his work. It was almost as if he wanted her to see. _

_There were so many colorful glass vials on the table, most without labels. Drinks? Potions? Magic? His fingers selected a few vials and mixed them together, pausing to anticipate the outcome. _

_Her green eyes noticed a couple odd strands of hair beside a clear vial. The liquid inside was cloudy, as if someone had tossed sand into water. The strands of hair were from two different people. _

_One was silky and black as coal. Black as her own; her hand flew to her head as though she could find the exact spot her hair had been snipped. The other strands of hair were…no. The slight wave of them, the highlight of gold threaded inside it. _

_They belonged to him. _

_Confidently, he lifted the black strands and dropped them into the vial. The liquid seemed to swallow them whole. As she silently watched, he did the same with the strands of his hair. Before her eyes, the liquid in the vial transformed into a thick white substance. _

_The man smiled impishly. _

_And he turned to her, extending the white vial. She could hardly breathe under the weight of his amber gaze. _

"_Drink up…Snow." _

_Snow? Was that what he called her? As in Snow White? Oh, yes. She had spent way too much time with Henry. _

_And now he was holding the vial out to her and staring down at her belly. Did he intend for her to drink it? It didn't look very appetizing. _

"_Oh, yes," he crooned, miraculously reading her thoughts. "If it's a girl you want, it's a girl you shall have. Just remember, dearie: everything comes with a price." _

_A girl? But she had just lost her baby. Her hands dropped down and brushed against…her pregnant belly. The baby kicked inside her, demanding out. And that vial was so close to her lips. It oozed against the glass. _

_One of his hands came up to support the back of her head as she craned her neck away from the vial. And the other was bringing the vial straight to her lips. She tried to push him away, to shift her head back from the vial, but the liquid was already flowing through her lips. _

"_A deal's a deal," his voice was lilting as the liquid oozed thick and bitter into her throat. _

_It burned all the way down to her stomach and seemed to keep going down…down to her baby. It was almost impossible to swallow. His hand stroked the back of her head as she gasped for fresh air. His body slid up against hers, the baby nestled between them. _

_The vial was tossed away—it shattered into shiny glass shards on the library floor. His free hand cupped her chin and she knew what he was going to do next. The memory of the thick white liquid in her throat distracted her too much to try to stop him. Or perhaps this was his price. _

_His lips crashed down against hers in a fierce kiss. His tongue melded with the liquid that was still sliding down her throat. The bitter residue of the potion was gone from her tongue; all she could taste now was him. _

_Just as she ran out of air to breathe anything else but him, his lips released her and she fell dizzily into his arms. Just as he wanted her, no doubt. _

_His lips found her ear, his breath tickling her skin. _

"_You really are the fairest of them all. My dearest…Mary Margaret." _

…_._

A knock on the door urged Mary Margaret out of her surreal dream and thrust into reality. Someone might as well have tossed a bucket of ice water over her head. For a dizzy moment, the intense white room startled her again before she remembered where she was.

The hospital. Of course.

Her hand was still clasped in Gold's, though now it was buzzing with pins and needles. She must have fallen asleep while he dutifully sat beside her as she asked him to do. He was looking off at something and she followed his gaze.

It was David at the door.

A bouquet of white flowers stuffed in his hand, the heady aroma filling the room. Gold stiffened in the chair at her bedside—David's presence obviously displeased him. It wasn't exactly a picnic for her, either. David was another person on that list of people she'd rather avoid. It'd be rude to demand he leave, wouldn't it?

"Could I speak to Mary Margaret?" David gestured the bouquet in her direction. She tried to slip her hand out of Gold's grip, but he squeezed it, holding it tight. A show for David.

"You have a working voice—grating as it may be—and Mary Margaret happens to have two ears. What else is stopping you?"

David's charming smile dissipated. He shuffled his feet and averted his gaze. She could tell he was fighting to keep his answer as noble as possible.

"It's okay," she found herself saying. "I think it might be better if I speak to David alone."

Those brown eyes snapped to her and scrutinized her. For a fleeting moment, she thought Gold might object. She was almost sure she could hear the protest spiraling up and out.

Instead, he exhaled a tired breath and rose, releasing her hand. Her skin felt too cold now where Gold had touched her.

"I'm sure whatever it is you must say should warrant no more than ten minutes," Gold warned David. Mary Margaret had no doubt he'd be keeping track of the time. She didn't know whether to feel reassured that Gold was willing to return for her or upset that he was so demandingly placing a time limit for David's visit.

"Thank you," David murmured with relief. Gold paused in passing him and Mary Margaret bit down on her lip as she anticipated the fierce words that clearly weighed on the pawnbroker's tongue. David boldly met his cold gaze and did not flinch.

Wordlessly, Gold carried on through the door into the hallway.

"I take it he doesn't like me very much," David deadpanned.

Mary Margaret turned her attention on the newly vacated chair beside her bed. Why had she agreed to speak to David? Was she just asking for more heartache? How much could one person take before their heart crumbled into dust?

"That makes two of us," she muttered.

It was a cruel spear aimed for David's heart and, judging by the tense silence, it hit its mark. There was a rustle of cellophane as David set the bouquet down and suddenly he was seated beside the bed, in the spot where Gold had been only a minute ago. Had it only been a minute?

Mary Margaret's eyes roamed from David to the giant get-well card lying flat on the bedside table. It must have been from Henry. Emma had probably dropped it off while she slept. A smile lifted her lips.

"Mary Margaret, I am so sorry about the baby," David whispered. And the smile was gone. It cracked like a mirror before shattering completely. That hollow ache purged her abdomen again—it was the worst feeling in the world to know you've lost your child. "I'm so sorry. I didn't even know—"

Know what? Know that she was pregnant with Gold's child?

"I just found out recently," she admitted flatly, tracing the skin of her belly. Warm tears brimmed her eyelids, clouding her vision. How many times would she be reduced to tears after tonight? When would the emptiness subside?

"Mary Margaret," he breathed her name in the way that used to make her heart flutter. He wanted her to look at him, but she didn't have the energy or will to do so. His hand settled on her arm and a jolt of electricity shot through her elbow. "Why him? Why not…_us?" _

Mary Margaret's eyelids slid closed. There was not enough strength in her body to balance this. She wasn't even sure she could open her eyes again.

"David, I know that everybody thinks that there is nothing good in Mr. Gold. He was actually the one that gave Regina the suggestion to fire me from teaching." David's eyebrows rose in shock and he opened his mouth to protest. "But they're wrong. There's good in everyone. Mr. Gold thinks he's worse than he really is. Besides, I promised him…happiness."

Happiness. That had been her favor. It felt like ages since she'd reclined in his arms and he'd soothed her dreams away. Since he'd staked his price.

Mary Margaret touched the golden drop at the base of her throat and remembered how happy she'd truly been that night in Mr. Gold's embrace. The happiest she'd been with David was when they were kissing in the middle of the street.

No matter what they did, something pulled them apart. Maybe it was a sign that what they had was simply not meant to be. It was fate telling them that their hope for love was futile in this world.

"And us?" David was persisting. Lines of dismay trailed across his face, making him age years. He really did want to try with her, didn't he? But trying and being were two different things.

"I don't think there can ever be…us," Mary Margaret quietly told him, though it ached for her to admit it. Their relationship had never been an honest one and happiness seemed akin to winning the lottery these days.

David hung his head solemnly and seemed to struggle to unleash the thoughts plaguing his mind. Mary Margaret wasn't sure she wanted to listen anymore. It was just too hard to deal with.

"I'm not with Kathryn anymore," he said. She sighed. Did he think that was the only obstacle in their path? That Kathryn's removal was reason enough for them to salvage any kind of intimate relationship?

"David, it's not about Kathryn. Once it was, but now…I think it would be better if we stop trying altogether. Be honest, David. It wouldn't work between us," she said. The sorrow on David's face was too much to bear—it was like watching a puppy get kicked even if it was annoying.

"Kathryn put a down-payment on an apartment in Boston," he told her. "I'm going to stay there. Unless…you can give me a reason to stay _here_."

Mary Margaret's lips thinned as she forced her gaze back to David. She wished she could honestly come up with a good reason for David to stay, even if it meant being in the friendship zone. But even that hurt too much.

Ever so slowly—and regretfully—she shook her head.

"I'm sorry. I can't." David's hands curled into balls and he stood with great fatigue. He studied Mary Margaret longingly with his gentle blue eyes, the shade of the purest sky. Reaching forward, he caught her hand and brought it to his lips. She allowed him that last token.

"Then I guess…this is it for us," he said softly. Mary Margaret could not bring herself to say otherwise. Gently, he released her hand and it was like a wall had suddenly separated them for miles. "Goodbye, Mary Margaret."

It must have taken all the strength David had to tear his eyes from her in that hospital bed and make his way to the door. Perhaps he was waiting for her to call him back, to say she was wrong and that she really wanted him to stay.

But in a matter of seconds, he had vanished from view. Gone.

Forever.

_Goodbye, David. I hope you know…I really am sorry it had to end this way. _

…..

It was a few minutes past eight at night when Mary Margaret was officially discharged. One of the nurses passed the news to her—apparently, Dr. Whale was dealing with an emergency. She didn't mind. It had been quite uncomfortable around Whale ever since their failed attempt of a date.

Alone in her hospital room, Mary Margaret fingered the roses in the middle of the pile of bouquets and cards people had sent out of sympathy. No doubt the news of her hospitalization had spread like wildfire. It always did in this town.

Dipping her head, Mary Margaret inhaled the sweet scent of the roses. There was no card attached, no name. Yet, she was certain of the sender's identity. Gold. She'd told him to head home hours before; she felt bad having him linger here by her bedside like she was on her deathbed.

In a way, it must have been another attempt to tell her he was sorry. It was a good thing Emma hadn't seen them yet—they'd end up in the trash.

A light knock at the door alerted her. So many visitors today. She almost expected it to be him, catching her in the act of admiring his roses. Always intuitive, it seemed he knew the moment someone in Storybrooke decided to breathe his name, even if the words were mostly ill in nature.

It wasn't him. It was Emma. She stopped sniffing the roses.

"Good news. I've been discharged. Free to go," she announced with as big a smile as she could muster. Emma wandered in, barely nodding. Her face was pale white and she kept studying Mary Margaret with grave intensity. "What's the matter? Emma, you look like you've seen a ghost."

Her green eyes fell to Henry's leather-bound storybook, clutched to Emma's chest like a Bible. Why was she holding Henry's book? And where was the kid? He hadn't visited her yet. At least, not while she was awake.

"Maybe…maybe I have seen a ghost," Emma whispered. Now she was drinking Mary Margaret in, starting from the black of her hair to the flats nestled on her feet. She squirmed under the heavy gaze. Why was Emma looking at her like that? Like…a stranger?

"Emma, what's going on?" No matter her determination, Mary Margaret could not keep the anxiety out of her voice. Something was obviously wrong; it was a thick, poisonous fog hanging in the air.

Blinking, Emma's hard-edged focus returned as if it had never been gone.

"Look, there's something I need to do—"

A sharp clicking of confident heels interrupted her as Regina Mills blocked the doorway. Pouting with pure annoyance and reeking with authority. Dressed to kill in smart, clinging business attire.

"Are you ready or should I tell Henry to put it off for five minutes that—need I remind you—he does not have?" Mary Margaret glanced between the Mayor and Emma. Her stomach—her hollow, empty stomach—hit rock-bottom.

"What are you doing…with _her?"_ A spear shot through her heart as she imagined Emma working alongside Regina, the sole cause of her misery. The one who took away her baby.

No; she couldn't even imagine it. Emma wouldn't do that. Unless…

Henry.

"You haven't told her yet? Here I figured the two of you would be breaking out the Kleenex," Regina openly mocked. Always the cold-hearted ice queen.

"Do us a favor, _Madame Mayor, _and shut the hell up," Emma snapped over her shoulder. "You're lucky I haven't ripped your head off for everything you've done." Even Mary Margaret flinched from the acid in Emma's tone.

Though, it did ease her worries a little to know that Emma detested Regina as much as she ever did. Or…did she somehow detest her more tonight?

"Tell me what?"

Mary Margaret gripped the table that held the pile of get-well gifts. Her lungs refused to pump with air—she didn't know if she could take one more piece of bad news today. First her baby, then David…now this?

"Sn—Mary Margaret," Emma murmured with wide green eyes that were glazed with water. Was she about to call her _Snow? _Whatever she _was_ trying to say, it was difficult. "Henry is here. In the hospital."

All of a sudden, Mary Margaret became aware of several things. The way the fluorescent lights kept flickering unsteadily; someone needed to change that soon. The way Emma's knuckled turned as white as the walls while she desperately held tight that book of fairy-tales. The amount of pressure she was putting on the table so that it shook. The impatient tapping of Regina's black-toed foot on the tiled floor.

A spark of intuition whispered to Mary Margaret: _it's her fault. _

Mary Margaret somehow released the table and dared to take a step closer to the Mayor, chin poised high as never before. As Regina's eyes shifted with suspicion, Mary Margaret's eyes narrowed accusingly.

"What have you done?"

It was barely a whisper, but Regina stumbled back as if Mary Margaret had slapped her hard across the face. Even her cheeks began to turn a tell-tale shade of red.

"Excuse me?" Guilty as charged. Regina's lip curled in a vicious sneer, her true hatred unmasked. Unlike Mary Margaret, she'd have no qualms about physically slapping someone who bothered to threaten her name.

The clunk of Emma's boots hit her ears as the Sheriff slipped up to stand beside Mary Margaret. Two against one.

"Do _you _want to explain to her why Henry is lying in a hospital bed?" Regina opened her red mouth and then closed it. She chose silence. "I didn't think so."

Emma gave Regina the cold shoulder as she turned back to Mary Margaret, the book extended in offering. Regina might as well have never interrupted at all, the way Emma so easily brushed her off.

"Henry is in a coma. Whale is working on him," she explained. There was still the lingering sense that there was something these two weren't telling her. It had to be important—Emma wouldn't just keep any old secret from her now….would she? "Take this and keep him company until I get back."

Mary Margaret accepted the heavy book from Emma and already knew she'd be getting absolutely no sleep tonight. Not that she was planning on it, anyway.

"Wait. Where are you going?" Emma was already at the door, preparing to abscond on some mission with Regina. Slowly, she paused and glanced over her shoulder. There was a fierce determination in her eyes, the kind that showed up when a parent was trying to protect their child. A lioness protecting her cub.

"To get help." And then they were gone, leaving Mary Margaret with the book and her mind spinning.

Help.

Help only translated into one person in Storybrooke.

Mr. Gold. What did he have to do with Henry? Money to pay for the medical bills?

Hefting the book, Mary Margaret neglected the bunches of flowers and hurried to locate Henry's room, all the while sending up prayer after prayer that he would make it through the coma.

No matter how strong she tried to be, it would inevitably destroy Emma to lose Henry tonight.

…..

_**I think I'll be wrapping this story up soon. But I appreciate all those that have read and reviewed. For now, I want to thank DragonRose4, Twyla Mercedes, The Sky Pirate Girl, and mafer-torres-714 for their recent reviews. **_

_**To Twyla Mercedes: Oh, yes. Better late than never, indeed! Well, I figured that she needed someone since Regina caused her so much misery lately. It's partly the reason I like writing for Regina, though—she's so deliciously evil. And don't worry: I love writing Regina/Gold showdowns. She'll get her comeuppance. They always do. **_

_**To DragonRose4: First rule of Storybrooke survival: always read the memos! (-; You know, the good thing about Rumpel is that he knows the beauty of biding his time. Regina better be afraid. Very afraid. (Mwahahaha…um…*cough cough*). **_

_**To The Sky Pirate Girl: Thanks for the review. Yes, Regina can be so evil, huh? There's nothing she won't do to get her way. At least I am a writer who believes in happy endings for these characters. (-;**_

_**To mafer-torres-714: And suddenly that whole weird dream of Regina being tied up to a tree with Emma swinging a sword at her head seems totally justified. Go figure. Fear not—Rumpel will defend you from Regina and the Evil Regals…for a price. **_

_**Thanks, everyone, for reading! **_


	30. Chapter 30

_**A/N: I just had the urge to write up this chapter. It's pretty short, but I still hope everyone likes it. Only 13 days left until season 2. Anyone else feel like it's going by so slowly? **_

_**Chapter Thirty **_

"And yes, she was beyond hope. Beyond saving. This was her end."

Emma had been gone for hours. The clock kept ticking, the machines kept beeping. Only Mary Margaret's soft breathing joined the chorus. Henry was still trapped in his coma with no indication of an internal fight to awaken.

Mary Margaret returned to the book resting in her lap, her finger poised over the spot she'd just read. To ease her mind and keep Henry company, she'd been reading stories from his book. Rapunzel, Hansel and Gretel, Red Riding Hood…and now Snow White.

She didn't know whether coma patients could truly hear the voices of those sitting by their bedside, but she liked to believe it.

Instinctively, a hand went to her eyes and she rubbed them sore. Was it really stretching from night into the early hours of the morning? Disregarding it, she cleared her throat and went on.

"When Prince Charming saw his beloved…Snow White…"

She stumbled as she had so often with this story. All she could recall was that strange dream and the way Emma had stared at her as though seeing her for the first time. The silence was excruciating.

"Snow White in her glass coffin, he knew all that was left was to say goodbye."

_I guess this is it for us. Goodbye, Mary Margaret. _Coffee would drain these haunting thoughts from her mind, even if the hospital's brand was self-admittedly bland. Oh, but she hated to leave Henry's side. So, she kept reading.

"He had to give her one last kiss," she choked out. Her throat was raw and she found herself fighting to keep control of her resolve. The memory of David's last kiss on her skin made the nerves in her hand tingle. She rubbed her fingers over it, simultaneously hoping to brush the unwelcome sensation away.

"And when he did, true love proved more powerful than any curse. A pulse of pure love shuddered out and engulfed the land, awakening Snow White and bringing light to the darkness," she finished. Her finger left the illustrated page. For some reason, the ending left an empty void in her chest.

Inevitably, her emerald eyes trailed to Henry. Oh, the sight of him sliced deep into her heart until it bled. And he was only ten years old, with the rest of his life yet to live!

So frail and small in that gigantic hospital bed, with skin pale as snow. His chest barely rose on its own, each breath a struggle that no child should ever have to experience. His hand lay flat by his side, as though he were reaching out for someone, anyone. Her.

_Oh, Henry. Please…please, wake up. If it's one thing this town cannot take, it is the loss of a child. _

"Henry," she whispered to him. On instinct, she scooted closer on the bed and clasped his small hand. It was ice cold. "When I gave you this book, it was because I knew that life does not always have a happy end. I thought…it might help you to deal with such a hard, lonely life. No child deserves that."

She squeezed his hand, anticipating a light squeeze back. Just a slight pressure, a sign that he was in there and fighting.

No response.

Not that she had truly expected one. She had just….hoped. But hope was not the grand strobe of pure light depicted in Henry's book. In this town, it was a piece of irresistible meat strung cruelly just out of reach of a pack of snarling dogs. Irresistible and unlikely to be obtained.

But how could she ever tell that to Henry, who thrived on hope? All she wanted was…was…

"All I wanted was for you to be happy, Henry. You deserve that much. And Emma…" Emma, who had been gone for hours with Regina. Emma, his real mother. "Emma needs you right now. Henry, _please."_

She waited. The machines beeped their monotonous pattern. With every passing second, the chance of Henry recovering and emerging from his coma slimmed. Pretty soon, his chance would be only a step above zero.

Warm tears pooled beneath her eyelids. She squeezed Henry's hand even harder, a silent message: _I'm here for you. _

What more could be said? That it'll be alright? The outcome looked bleak even to her eyes and she refused to lie to Henry while sitting at his bedside.

It hurt so much to even imagine losing this bright kid, one of Storybrooke's last wonders. Not seeing his smile every morning, not listening to his wild fantasies and stories, not baking him chocolate chip cookies…

"You really are…like a son to me, Henry." Mary Margaret meant it with every cell of her being. It felt like she was losing that child again—that hollow ache in her abdomen returned with a vengeance.

Leaning forward, she placed a light kiss on his cheek.

And then the machines went haywire. _Beep-beep-beep-beep-beep—_

"Dr. Whale?" Mary Margaret stared up at the alarming monitor, only it failed to make sense to her. Everything was happening at once; the shrill pattern of noise pierced her ears, the numbers rapidly declined, the spikes of Henry's heart rate flattened…."Dr. Whale!"

This time, she screamed his name. Where was the staff of nurses when you needed them most? Sleeping on the job? Just because it was early in the morning—

Sharp footsteps rushed into the room, belonging to several people. No matter what, she could not tear her eyes from the monitor as Henry's life drained away.

"What is that? What's happening to him?" Her voice was raw with desperation, but no one was answering her question.

Suddenly, two white-sleeved arms grabbed her up from the bed. The book went toppling to the floor, sliding somewhere underneath the bed. The arms were trying to guide her away from Henry.

Her heart thudded in the hollow of her throat and she clung to Henry's limp hand, refusing to let go. The grip behind her was too strong, tugging her back.

"Mary Margaret, you need to let go!"

It was Dr. Whale's voice, but she was beyond hearing. She squeezed that small hand, fighting the grip on her shoulders. She couldn't let go—wouldn't let go. His mother wasn't here. Henry needed someone with him, didn't they see?

Another pair of hands, these belonging to a female nurse, invaded her personal space. Two against one. With a demanding tug on her shoulders, Mary Margaret's hand slid along Henry's and then broke away, leaving his hand to fall flat on the mattress.

"Nurse, get her out of here. Now!" She was roughly handed over like a box of goods rather than a person. Why did Dr. Whale sound so grave? Why wasn't anyone telling her anything?

The last thing she saw was Henry's hospital bed being laid flat and the monitor screeching with a thin line that was nearly straight in length…

The nurse abruptly released her to return to the room, but Mary Margaret barely noticed the cold feeling remaining on her shoulders where she was grabbed. For a minute, the room spun on a fierce axis, tilting and swaying. Coherent thought was slow in forthcoming, her nerves numbed by the chilling apprehension wracking through her body.

It was happening. Oh, God, it was happening. Henry was taking a turn for the worse. He was…No. Not yet.

She needed to find Emma. Now.

Whirling on her heel, Mary Margaret aimed for the hallway that would ultimately lead her out of the hospital. Before she even reached the doors, she had broken into a run.

...

**_Dun, dun, dun! Only a couple more chapter left, I think. I must thank everyone who has read my story and has reviewed. You guys are amazing. I would say more, but words probably cannot fully express it. _**

**_To Twyla Mercedes: Thank you for all your continued support. It really means a lot. You basically have the gist of what's coming in the end of my story, with a few other tricks up my sleeve as well. Thanks for reading!_**

**_To Lavender Leo: Thanks for the review! It's so good to hear that you've enjoyed reading my story this far. _**

**_To my anonymous Guest: Oh, you're reading those stories, too? Thanks for that as well, then! Don't worry-those ones aren't ending as quickly. But thank you for taking the time to read this one as well!_**


	31. Chapter 31

_**Chapter Thirty-One**_

Mary Margaret's feet slid across the linoleum floor of the hospital as she navigated her way toward the exit. Nurses and doctors bounded into her path, but she thrust past them, shoving them away. Somewhere behind her, a tray clattered to the floor, the sound of sprinkling pills rebounding. If they made any remark, she never caught it. Her mind was spinning—a whirlwind of concern, confusion, and distraught.

Where would Emma be? The apartment? Maybe. The station? _Oh, I have no clue! Where would she be going with Regina so early in the morning when Henry's in a coma? Where? _

She darted around the corner and instantly collided with a young girl. The two collapsed to the floor in a heap, Mary Margaret's elbows jittering from the impact. She'd managed to topple over the girl, who was gasping for breath.

"Oh, I am so sorry," she immediately apologized as she disentangled herself and stood up. She brushed her hands along her coat and offered to help the girl to her feet. She looked to be a patient, judging by the gray short-sleeved shirt and sterile pants she wore. If not for the frizzy brown hair and sallow shade of her skin, she might have been stunning, capable of turning heads even. "You're a patient, right? Do you need help?"

"Well, I—" The girl stalled for a moment, her cheeks starting to blush. There was a hint of an Australian accent and the hard edge of her blue eyes suggested she'd seen too much of the world already. "I was just discharged. You wouldn't happen to know where I could find Mr. Gold?"

There was a desperate glow in the depths of her blue eyes. Meeting them directly, Mary Margaret realized they were the perfect shade of cornflower. Mary Margaret wondered what a young girl—a previous hospital patient—could need of Mr. Gold. Help to pay the medical bills, perhaps? A loan?

Despite her doubts, there was something sincere in the girl's face that she liked already.

"You'd probably find him in his pawnshop. It's only a couple of blocks from here," she offered, motioning her hand in the right direction. "Right next to the ice cream shop. It's a large sign—you can't miss it." The girl nodded a thank-you and side-stepped her. "Wait!"

The girl paused and pivoted slowly, eyes wide with alarm. From the startled look of her, the girl was ready to bolt at any given moment.

"It's cold out there," Mary Margaret pointed out as she removed her bunchy brown winter coat. It was much too stuffy in here, anyway—her cardigan would do. A bead of sweat rolled over her eyebrow, proving her point.

"Oh, I couldn't—" The girl tried to hand the coat back to her, but Mary Margaret smiled and refused to accept it. This poor girl, thin as bones, needed it more than she did. The wind would blow right through her with only that pair of hospital clothes on her body.

"Please," she insisted. The girl hesitated another moment and then shrugged it on. It fit her quite well, just a little bigger than her body. Her hands roamed over it wondrously and a grateful smile was in place when she next lifted her head.

"Thank you," the girl earnestly murmured as her fingers traced the hem of the coat. Mary Margaret spun on her heel, her heart swelling after having done something generous today. A foot or so down the hall, another thought halted her in her tracks. All this frantic anxiety over Henry really had gotten the best of her. Where were her manners?

"By the way, I'm Mary Mar—" When she turned back, the girl was gone. Vanished like a ghost. "—gret," she finished half-heartedly. The nurses bustled on, the activity of the hospital flowing as if the girl had never been there at all. Well, at least she'd been able to help someone. It was the thought that counted, right?

Speaking of helping someone…

Mary Margaret hurried through the hospital in search of Emma once more, the mysterious girl all but forgotten.

…

Emma wasn't at the apartment.

Emma wasn't at the station.

Emma wasn't…anywhere.

Mary Margaret wandered the streets, wracking her tired mind for any possible explanation of where she would be. Where else _could_ she be? Streaks of sunlight illuminated the sky as the dark of the night drained. Time was slipping away. What if she was already too late?

No, she refused to think that way. Henry had always been about having faith and that's what she would do now. Have faith and believe there was a solution to this problem.

Oh, God, what was she to do? Her mind ached from working too hard, her legs cramped viciously from running around town, and her eyes must have been infused with sandpaper with the way they burned. Sleep would be a good thing, but Henry was asleep. And chances were he wouldn't be awakening anytime soon.

She needed help.

It was proving impossible to find Emma on her own, even in such a provincial town. There just wasn't enough time to traverse the entire town in hopes that she would stumble across her. She needed answers. There was only one person she could turn to, only one person who might just hold that answer in the palm of his hand.

Mr. Gold.

….

Mary Margaret quickened her steps as the elaborate sign of the pawnshop loomed into view. Her breath came in short gasps and her cheeks were red from the effort combined with the chafing cold. It was a small relief to step into the warmth of the shop.

Mr. Gold was behind the register, his back facing her as he handled something. Whatever the object was, it did not strike her as important as finding Emma.

"Ah, so they've discharged you," he mused as he turned around to face her. It didn't escape her notice that his body deliberately shielded the object of his previous scrutiny from her view. Perhaps if she'd been less anxious and her nerves less frayed, she would have also noticed the gold glinting in the shop's light.

"Emma told me she was meeting with you tonight. Do you know where I can find her?" Gold's expression turned rather grave. She didn't like it one bit.

"No doubt Henry has taken a turn for the worse. I fear for his chances," he admitted softly. Mary Margaret's heart squeezed as she had been thinking the very same thing only recently. Tears warmed her eyes, but she hastily brushed them away. It was getting difficult to fight off the images of Henry, deathly pale in that hospital bed, the machines going haywire.

"Gold, please," she whispered, practically begging him. "If you know where she is, tell me. Henry doesn't have much time." His cane tapped lightly on the floorboards as he shifted closer to her, the only thing separating them being the display case.

"Indeed not. Since you asked nicely, dear…You might want to check the library," he suggested softly. Mary Margaret's brow furrowed. The library? Why would Emma be inside the abandoned library when her son was lying in a sterile hospital bed, flat-lining? A story to read to him? "I would offer my help, but I'm afraid I'm rather busy at the moment."

"But, Henry—"

The black curtain swished aside, directing Mary Margaret's attention away from Mr. Gold. Standing there, blue eyes wide with curiosity and drinking her in, was the girl she had bumped into in the hospital. And she was still wearing Mary Margaret's coat.

"I…I've managed to make some tea in the back. I hope that's alright," she murmured apologetically, though she was strong enough to fearlessly hold Mr. Gold's gaze. Not many grown people in Storybrooke had the courage to do that. It would have puzzled Mary Margaret, had she not looked to Gold for the answer.

It was there, in the depths of his brown eyes. The way he was gazing at this strange girl, she might as well have been an angel. His face brightened considerably and there was more emotion in his face than Mary Margaret had ever seen, even when she'd been the object of his affection. There was only one possible word for it—love.

"It's fine," he answered the girl with a light wave of his hand. Then his focus switched to Mary Margaret and a stroke of heat flushed her cheeks, as if she'd been caught watching an intense make-out session. "Mary Margaret…this is Belle."

The girl smiled politely and fingered the hem of the jacket with recognition.

"It seems we've already met," Belle said modestly and started to shrug off the jacket. "I believe this is your jacket." Mary Margaret held up a hand to stop her. She lowered it when she realized it was trembling. Her heart was racing like horse's hooves, beating rapidly inside her chest.

"Keep it," she said. Belle raised an eyebrow, asking if she was sure. "It looks better on you than it ever did on me." Mary Margaret made a mumbled excuse about finding Emma. She was unable to meet Gold's eyes—if she had, she might not have been able to move again. In the next second, she collided with the door, seeking fresh air.

She thought she might have heard Mr. Gold calling her name, but she never stopped to listen.

….

The sun had nearly risen in the sky. The town clock proclaimed it was just a little past six. The wind ceased to a dull whistle, the shadows returned to their corners, the smell of early-morning dew tainted the air.

Mary Margaret dragged aimlessly along the main street of Storybrooke. It was dreadfully quiet, still too early for the town to wake and the shops to open. Her feet were sore and the wind had frozen her skin, but all she could do was continue on as her mind spun in ten different directions at once.

Henry was lying in a hospital bed, in a coma. Dying.

Emma was not at the library or anywhere, for that matter. And she was out of ideas for places to look, if she even had the will.

David was gone, leaving Storybrooke behind for an apartment and a new life in Boston. Leaving her for good.

Mr. Gold may very well be in love with someone else, a girl she'd never met before and who she truly could not hate.

What was left for her here? Everyone was parting ways, lives had been destroyed, happiness had been shattered into pieces like the shards of a cracked mirror. And, oh, if Henry…died…Emma would ultimately leave, too. There'd be nothing left for her, either, after losing her son. Nothing worth staying for, except for Mary Margaret whose mind was befuddled and lost.

Everything had fallen apart. There was nothing—

A pulse of energy whirled around her. It cloaked her, a force so strong that it pulled the hair back from her face and chilled her to the bone. It lasted only a second, but she felt as if she'd been awakened from an eternal dream.

Somehow, she'd fallen to her knees, the gravel damp beneath her. Wearily, she blinked—once, twice—and took in shallow breaths. And then the memories surfaced, each one piercing her mind with stunning clarity.

In the castle, a bluebird resting on her finger, and then fluttering its wings as it flew off into the distant woods. _I can't keep having this conversation with you…._The birth of her precious baby—Emma—and the realization that she must offer her a chance in another world, salty tears streaming down her face. _We have to believe she'll come back for us! _Biting the poisoned apple—_then congratulations; you've won—_only to be awakened by true love's kiss—

She remembered.

She remembered everything, including the fact that she was indeed the fabled Snow White. It could only mean one thing.

The curse was finally broken.

….

_**I hope everyone enjoyed the season premiere. I thought it was a pretty good start. The Rumbelle scenes left much to ponder over. I won't ruin the rest of it, in case anyone hasn't yet seen it. What did you guys think? **_

_**Thank you everyone who is reading and reviewing—I appreciate it. I wish to thank Nikki-4, Twyla Mercedes, thedoctorsgirl42, and BlooperLover for their reviews last chapter. **_

_**To BlooperLover: I'm glad to know that anonymous one was you! I thank you for your reviews, all the same. Good to hear you're enjoying my story—that's all that really counts. **_

_**To Twyla Mercedes: Yes, silly me—I know one should never truly wish away time. Thank you for the review (as always). It's never any fun without putting a last minute twist on a story. (-; **_

_**To thedoctorsgirl42: Don't get me wrong—I do think Rumpel has a soft spot for Snow. I don't think I ever really intended for those two to be endgame. It was a kind of fun experiment to see if I could make these two work to some degree. And I'm glad so many people liked it. Thanks for reading, anyway. **_

_**Until next time, everyone!**_


	32. Chapter 32

_**A/N: I think it's been a little while since I last updated. If it has, then I am very sorry. I've been busy lately and have had little time left over for writing. But, on the plus side, I think you'll enjoy this next chapter. At least I hope you will. **_

The curse was broken.

After twenty-eight years—twenty-eight long years of suffering and trudging through a miserable, hazy existence—the curse was broken. Memories flooded back, the citizens of Storybrooke awakening with widened eyes of realization and life that had not been there previously.

Was it too good to be true?

Emma—their savior, her daughter—had managed to save them, just as Rumpelstiltskin had proclaimed in his cell so long ago. Snow found herself smiling in wonder as she wandered the main street of Storybrooke. It was true—she could remember all the time she'd spent in their world. She remembered standing before Rumpelstiltskin and begging for information of the curse.

And in terms of Rumpelstiltskin…that odd dream returned to the surface of her mind. Golden-streaked hair mixing with strands of black in that vial, the sickly sweet syrup running down her throat…She swore she could still taste its thickness on her tongue.

In her heart, she recognized Emma as a product of the pure love she shared with Charming. True love. It didn't matter that an enchanted potion had encouraged it, right? Emma was their daughter, so brave and strong.

But…what if that dream was hinting at something that Snow had never considered? Or perhaps something she never had the courage to consider? What if that potion had done more than simply encourage Emma's existence?

Oh, it was quite heavy to think about. And yet the weight of its knowledge settled vastly on her shoulders.

Despite the onslaught of worries plaguing her, Snow couldn't force the light smile from her lips. It was so hard to believe they were finally free of the chains Regina had bound them with. The town seemed brighter, the faces more familiar and resonating more deeply with her than simple citizens of a small town. It felt just like that moment when she awoke from the sleeping curse to gaze up into Charming's crystal blue eyes.

Hope. That was the feeling. A sensation that had been missing for twenty-eight years.

She would have to take time in absorbing this, wrapping her mind around it. She would have to find Red and Grumpy and the dwarfs….Of course there was her daughter and—

"Snow!"

The voice stopped her in her tracks, right in the middle of the sidewalk. It was a voice that she could never wish to forget, a voice she wanted to hear beside her every morning as the sun rose. A voice that she would walk through flames to reach.

Slowly, she turned her head, wondering if this wasn't in part a dream due to her recent plans of reunion. Shielding her eyes from the sun, her green eyes locked with the figure standing across the street, gazing at her with a pair of pure blue eyes. Her heart skipped a beat and before she knew it, she was running.

"Charming," she breathed an instant before their bodies joined, her arms circling his neck and his hand pressed against the small of her back to hold her close. Their bodies were two pieces of a puzzle, connecting so smoothly that it was hard to believe they could ever separate again.

Unable to contain their emotions any longer, Snow lifted her head and their lips met. Everything around them seemed to fade as Snow lost herself in the kiss that was much overdue for both of them. Charming's fingers caressed her jaw and delved into her short dark hair.

Honestly, she'd have to start growing it out again. And the nun-worthy button-up cardigans would have to go. No wonder Emma thought she was a nun at first.

As the kiss broke, Snow stared into the depths of Charming's eyes—her favorite color. By the concentration marking his face, he was also sifting through the memories that divided his true self with his Storybrooke self. Her own memories were battling it out in her head and she felt the start of a headache pulsing between her eyes.

"Seriously…you slept with Rumpelstiltskin?" Snow frowned. That was his first concern? Sometimes she wondered if she hit him a little too hard with that rock during their first meeting. He still had the ghost of a scar on his chin, which she now absently traced with her finger.

"We were _cursed!_ You know, he might not be as bad a person as you think," she pointed out boldly. Charming's expression twisted in disbelief—obviously he was perfectly fine with viewing Rumpelstiltskin as a monster. Snow had always thought he might have simply been lonely. "Besides, I vaguely recall a time when Kathryn thought she was pregnant."

"Right," Charming agreed, smiling sheepishly. She raised her hand to the side of his face and allowed her skin to brush the warmth of his. It was amazing how much she could miss someone she had forgotten she loved.

"What our Storybrooke selves did was not our fault. The Queen was the one who cursed us," she reminded him. Charming tilted his head into her palm and held her hand there, as if she would ever consider removing it. Her heart had swelled to the point where she thought it might burst.

"So, what now?" Snow smiled, her eyes gleaming with new purpose.

"Now, I find my daughter," she declared. It suddenly ebbed back in like waves on a shore, the memory of searching for Emma right before the curse broke.

"Our daughter," Charming corrected. Snow shouldn't have felt a sinking pit in her stomach, but it was there—a horrible black hole spreading poison among her newfound happiness. Maybe she should have been honest with him, voiced her concerns about her dream and Emma. Instead, she didn't have the heart to shatter his happiness.

"Our daughter," she agreed. Charming took her into his arms again, cradling her head on his shoulder. Snow was glad for the close contact and the chance to bury her face into Charming's neck. That way, he wouldn't be able to see the tear that soaked into the fabric.

* * *

><p>"Hey, kid. Good news. I heard you're getting discharged today." Emma strolled into the breezy hospital room carrying an oversized brown bag. It still gave her the chills to cross that threshold knowing that, not too long ago, she'd stood in this very room and kissed Henry goodbye. At least the curse was broken. "Figured you wouldn't mind a little lunch."<p>

Emma set the bag down on the table beside Henry's hospital bed. It was practically a five-star meal courtesy of Red and Granny for saving them all. Next she supposed the town would build a monument for her. All this attention was making her self-conscious.

Henry didn't lift his head to greet her. Sitting upright in bed, his little face was lined with concentration as he hunched over his book, reading over a page somewhere toward the end. Honestly, she didn't know why he still pored over it if the curse was broken. There was no need to fill in the missing blanks when everyone remembered who they were.

It still felt like a surreal dream to her. She half-expected to wake up in bed with the alarm going off. Did she seriously take down a dragon? Not many mothers could say that. It sounded like something on a cheesy mother-child T-shirt. _I fought a dragon to save my kid's life. What did you ever do? _

"I have a gigantic chocolate chip cookie in there with your name on it," she teased, picking up the bag and waving it in front of his face. No answer. Whatever he was reading must have been huge—Henry had the sweetest sweet tooth of any kid she knew, mainly due to the fact that Regina forbade sweets.

Sighing, Emma perched on the edge of the hospital bed. At least he was consciously aware of her presence as he curled his legs under the white blanket to make room for her. All she could hear was the beeping of the machines and it bugged her. The hospital was so quiet now that all the nurses and doctors were practically dancing in the streets.

Last she heard, Doctor Whale was claiming that he would bring together a mob against Regina.

"Okay, Henry. What's got you so occupied?"

She tapped the page of his book insistently. There was an illustration of a black-haired woman—Snow White, she presumed—preparing to drink a white potion. She never recalled that being in the fairy-tale. But then again, these tales weren't exactly of the Grimm sense.

How odd would it be once she got around to crossing paths with her mother and father? It was a miracle she hadn't run into them on her way back from Granny's. Not that she was purposely avoiding them or anything. That would be ridiculous.

Finally, his brown eyes rose to meet hers, though they were cloudy with worry.

"Remember when I said someone changed my book after it went missing?" August's wooden face emerged in her mind. Where was he now that the curse was broken? Still lying in that bed as a life-size puppet? After this, she would have to remember to check on him.

"Yeah, what's your point? Is there another story you've never noticed?"

Henry glanced back down at the book in his lap. Emma craned her head over the rim to study the black scripted print. It was pitiful—she was capable of slaying a dragon and breaking a curse, but it was a strain for her to read upside down.

"I didn't notice this part," he admitted, his finger underlining the lines of text on the page. She furrowed her brow in confusion. Time and again, she glanced from the rows of text to the picture of Snow White. It wasn't making much sense to her.

"Okay," she drew out the word in obvious misunderstanding. "What's the big deal? If Snow White took some kind of…potion…there's obviously nothing wrong with her now," she pointed out. People took potions all the time in fairy tales, right? Whatever it did probably disappeared with true love….right?

"According to this, Snow White drank a potion…in order to have you," Henry said. His mouth twisted in frustration as he re-read the page. Emma stiffened on the bed beside him, hoping she heard wrong. Snow White took a potion…that would affect her daughter? Her?

"What, like a magic form of in vitro?" Henry lifted his head and she could tell he was taking this situation a little too seriously.

"Kind of." Was that supposed to mean something dreadful? Emma returned a blank expression, locked in a tense staring contest with her kid. His hands curled around the book tightly—he would have to spell this one out for her. "I don't think Charming is really your father."

Okay, now the kid clearly jumped off the deep end. This whole time, for several months straight, Henry had been trying to convince her that David Nolan was really Prince Charming who was in love with Snow White and technically her birth father. If that wasn't enough to wrap her mind around, now he was saying Charming_ wasn't_ her father?

How much medicine did they pump into the kid?

"Right," she scoffed, though a cold sweat was starting to break out on her forehead. "Because Snow White obviously had an affair in fairy tale world. If he's not my father, then who is?" Something was nudging her brain, the kind of memory that lingered on the fringe just out of reach.

"The person who gave her the potion in the first place," Henry answered without hesitation. And suddenly, the memory broke loose and swam to the surface. She remembered a morning not too long ago where she awoke to find that Mary Margaret had not spent the night alone. _Leaving so soon? _

Could the fairy tale world and this world parallel so much?

There was only one person with power enough to give Snow White a magical person that would grant her a child. It certainly wasn't Regina. Before she knew what she was doing, she was up on her feet and pacing the floor.

"Whoa, whoa, whoa. Slow down, kid. You're saying that…Gold…or Rumpelstiltskin…" Henry frowned and it instantly made him appear older than his years. There was such sympathy and despair in his eyes that Emma couldn't bear to gaze into them for too long.

"I'm saying…you were never supposed to exist, Emma. Snow wanted a baby and he took advantage of it. Don't you see? That's why you're the savior," he reasoned, but she was already shaking her head. She couldn't handle this. It was too much to think about or even consider. Was it just her or was it suddenly one hundred degrees in here?

"Yeah, I'm the savior. Because he happened to put a couple drops of true love on the parchment that was meant for the curse," she argued. Henry sat up straighter in his bed, his face darkening with surprise.

"Is that what he told you?" He shook his head frantically. "Emma, you're the savior because he created you. You belong to him."

Emma sensed the next words that were coming and wanted to escape through the door, but her feet were frozen on the floor. Breath was denied from her lungs and her stomach was an endless volcano. It was as if time stopped moving again as Henry's lips parted and the truth hit her like a brick wall.

"You're Rumpelstiltskin's daughter."

* * *

><p><em><strong>Dun…dun…dun! <strong>_

_**I've actually been planning this out for a while now. It's kind of like a 'what-if' sentiment. And suddenly the game changes a bit! I know, massively evil cliffhanger. How dare I. **_

_**Of course, I'm always grateful for those that have read and reviewed my story. I appreciate all the support and to know that there are readers enjoying the story. Thank you everyone! Also, I hope you enjoy this week's episode of OUAT. **_

_**To Nikki-4: Thanks for reading! I'm glad you're enjoying it and don't worry—there's always more to come. *Cue evil laughter* **_

_**To Twyla Mercedes: You know, I always wondered where Belle got the coat after escaping the hospital. I just decided to throw it in for fun. Plus, I liked the idea of MM and Belle crossing paths before Rumpelstiltskin introduced them. Apparently, we're in for some more Rumbelle drama this week on OUAT (yikes). Thanks for reading!**_

_**To DragonRose4: Thanks for all the reviews lately! I've still got some drama up my sleeve for MM and all the rest. (-; **_

_**To the doctorsgirl42: You know, apparently you're right. Snow and Charming can fix almost anything with the words "we were cursed." That, and "I will always find you." Someone should start a counter to track how many times that line appears in this show. Thank you for the review! **_

_**Thank you everyone for taking the time to read and I hope you all enjoy OUAT this week! **_


	33. Chapter 33

_**A/N: Sorry for the wait, everyone! To make up for it, this is a pretty good-sized chapter. I hope you all enjoy it. **_

Snow and Charming hurried along the sidewalk with the hospital in direct view. Their minds focused on one ultimate goal: find Emma.

They nearly barreled into Henry as the kid—their grandson—rushed out the door. When his wide brown eyes connected with theirs, they lit up with the excitement of a child on Christmas morning. The breaking of the curse may well be Henry's vision of Christmas.

"Snow!" Henry almost dropped his leather-bound book as he ran to embrace his grandmother. She smiled warmly down at him, her hand ruffling his brown hair. Was it only a few hours ago that he had been near death? "I heard you reading to me when I was in the coma," he said, gazing up at her with what could only be called gratitude.

"You're welcome, Henry," she sighed as she gladly returned the hug. "Now, where's Emma?"

Henry tensed under her hold and silently pulled away. The elated expression had dulled and been replaced with a guarded one that Emma herself wore often. He really was her son, after all.

"Oh, she…had something to do," he replied vaguely, glancing between her and Charming. Clutching his book of fairy tales, he met Charming's gaze, a defiant gleam in his little eyes. Snow could tell Henry possessed the bravery to be a magnificent knight. "You know, I don't care if you're not really Emma's father. You'll still be my grandfather."

As with Snow, Henry sprang forward to hug Charming, but the prince's face had paled and crumpled with confusion. The air suddenly seemed too thick to breathe as he absently embraced Henry. Slowly, he turned to face Snow, whose green eyes were wide with dismay.

"Not…her father?" Snow's lips pursed unhappily, so tight so as to shut away any answers or explanations that threatened to pass. "Snow…what is he talking about?" Henry gasped and stumbled back.

"I'm sorry," he cried out, though the apology was more directed at Snow than Charming. "I thought you would have told him." Charming shook his head vehemently, trying desperately to understand.

"Tell me what?" Frantically, he swiveled from Henry to Snow. Her expression had become decidedly blank and controlled, an impassable wall that he could not hope to chip. Her eyelids fluttered closed, shielding the emerald jewels underneath. A sinking feeling invaded Charming's stomach—he was almost afraid to ask again. "Snow?"

After a long period of silence, Snow finally opened her eyes and he could see the water welling up inside. Trying to hold it together, she only shook her head solemnly and placed a hand to her belly, as if Emma were still cradled inside her womb. As if the baby she had lost were still living, growing.

The baby she had made…with Rumpelstiltskin.

Charming's blue eyes darkened a shade as the pieces began to fit smoothly together, the picture forming as he lifted his gaze from Snow's empty belly to her equally fathomless eyes. If he really wasn't Emma's father, then…

"No," he whispered as it dawned on him, the sickening truth. It left a horrible taste on his tongue to even think of voicing the idea. Drawing forward, he clasped Snow by the arms and willed her to look at him. It couldn't be true; it was impossible. "Snow, please. Tell me it's not true. Tell me it's not…_him."_

Gradually, Snow gathered up the courage to face him head-on and she was unable to stifle the sob in her throat. Her cheeks flushed with pink as the water overflowed around her eyelids.

"I'm so sorry, James."

….

It was with a heavy heart that Emma made the trip to the pawnshop. More than anything, she wanted to turn around, run back to Henry, and never let him out of her sight again. Mary Margaret and David—no, her_ parents_—were probably wondering where she was. But her mind had ignited, demanding answers.

Every step was a grand effort, as if someone had poured concrete in her boots. A pulsing headache had begun behind her eyes. All she could think about was the possibility that Henry might be right about Gold being…she couldn't even say it.

All she could think about was the type of person he was—manipulative, slimy, dangerous. Time and again, she recalled everything he had done—enforcing a deal to take Ashley's baby, starting the fire during the election that might have injured Regina or even her, beating Moe French to death over a chipped cup. It unnerved her that this man may very well be…her father.

With a deep breath, Emma charged up to the pawnshop's entrance and slipped inside. Despite the curse being broken, everything looked exactly the same inside. Cases cluttered with ancient belongings, items plastering the walls. She supposed not even the most powerful curse in the Enchanted Forest could tidy up Gold's territory.

"Gold? You in here?" If he was expecting her to use his true name, she wouldn't advise he hold his breath. She was still getting used to the overwhelming information and excitement of the last twenty-four hours.

Impatiently, she tapped her fingers on the counter. She wondered how quickly he would show himself if she used that dreadful word. Father. Shudder.

The black curtain shielding the back room was raked aside as Gold stepped into the front of the shop. Endless amusement danced in his chocolate-brown eyes as he locked gazes with her, rooting her to the spot.

"Ah, there's our little curse-breaker," he gleefully appraised her as he limped toward the counter. Every step he took, his cane tapped the floorboards, pounding inside her ears. "What can I do for you?"

Always the tricky question, meant to lure people into his waiting palm. He leaned against the counter, watching expectantly as she swallowed the lump in her throat. It was now or never. And above all else, Emma Swan was not a coward.

"Are you…my father?"

It burned her tongue, leaving behind a terrible aftertaste. It was made only worse by the gradual crumbling of Gold's professional mask, the control melting away into genuine relief. Stumbling forward, his hand reached out to grasp her elbow and a pleased smile curved his lips.

"So…she's finally understood. She's finally told you. Oh, Emma," he breathed her name almost…lovingly…but Emma could not take such an open gesture. It sent barbed wire through her stomach, curling upward toward her heart. Disgusted, she pulled away from his touch.

"It's true? You tricked Snow White into having your child—_me_—just so that I could be the savior?"

His brow furrowed with every word she flung at him and he stared down at his hand as if contemplating her reason for pulling away. Snapping back into reality, he circled the counter but she instinctively backed away, keeping her distance.

"No, Emma-sweetheart, I did not trick her. I kept my word. I gave her the child she wanted. You." He came within a foot of her; she watched him with narrowed eyes. She never trusted Gold for a second. How could he ever expect her to accept him as her father?

With a pained expression, he reached out once more to caress her face, but she slapped his hand away.

"When will you ever stop manipulating others? I'm pretty sure she wanted a child with Prince Charming, not you. As far as I'm concerned, he is my father," she spat. Spinning on her heel, she aimed for the door, but his slithery voice stopped her.

"Then, why have you come here? Just to hear it out loud? You know the truth, dearie, whether you like it or not. You've spent your entire life searching for your father. Now, you need look no further."

It bothered Emma that his tone had returned to its tricky, all-knowing, read-between-the-lines form. Maybe that was why she found herself firing a response at him over her shoulder when, on all accounts and purposes, she should have bitten her tongue.

"Maybe my father isn't who I thought he'd be," she shot bitterly at him. She almost made it to the door, but somehow he'd managed to lunge forward and catch her by the arm.

"You have to understand—" He pleaded with her, but she refused to listen.

Emma wrenched her arm away, sending him stumbling backward. Allowing instinct to take over, she spun and connected her fist with Gold's face. There was a tell-tale snap and he lost his balance, crashing into the display case behind him. Blood spurted from his nose, dripping across his skin as he tried to staunch the flow of with his hand.

"Stay away from my family. Stay away from me," she warned through gritted teeth before rushing out the door. He winced as she slammed the door, the bell on top close to breaking off.

That didn't exactly go the way he expected. Removing a black silk handkerchief from inside his suit, he covered his rapidly swelling nose. If Belle weren't here reading in the back room, he'd not hesitate to mend it with magic. Perhaps she wouldn't know—

"Rumpelstiltskin," her soft voice floated to him from the black curtain. Closing his eyes, he mentally cursed. Slowly, he turned to face her and saw that she did not appear pleased. He took that to mean she heard everything that happened with Emma, if not witnessed it through the curtain. "You had a child…with Snow White? The savior is your child?"

Oh, this definitely was not going the way he expected.

Carefully, he took a step forward, momentarily forgetting that his nose was producing a waterfall of blood. There was a slight sympathy in Belle's bright blue eyes, but not enough to change her stance.

"Belle, I—"

"That girl that gave me that jacket? You told me she only worked in your shop after being a schoolteacher. You told me she was the savior's mother, but you never mentioned you were the father. Is there anything else you're keeping from me? That you're afraid to let me see?" Guiltily he hung his head, his dusty brown hair cascading across his jaw. "Do you love her?"

The pain in Belle's voice was much too difficult to ignore. Ever since reuniting with her, he'd made certain she knew how much he valued her, loved her, wanted her. Now, she was hearing the exact opposite—the fact that she might be a statistic.

"No, of course not," he assured her, but even he took into notice the moment of hesitation before his answer. Recollections of his time spent with Mary Margaret came flooding back to the surface of his mind—dancing with her at the Miner's Day festival, drinking hot cocoa with cinnamon in her kitchen, waking up beside her in the morning, taking her _in this shop. _

Oh, the burden of knowledge and memories. It never ceased to amaze him, even after twenty-eight years.

And now Belle's face was crumbling to his feet, warm water filling her eyelids, her rosy lips trembling.

"Oh, gods. You fell in love with her," she sighed, every note revealing the tragedy of a broken heart. Crossing her arms firmly over her breasts, she made to sweep past him, just as Emma had done only moments ago. He wanted to reach out for her, but the throbbing of his broken nose reminded him how well that went last time.

"Belle, _please—"_

It was too late. Belle kept her head high as she stormed out of the shop, leaving a drafty chill in her wake. He had to grip the edge of a counter for support as he processed just how quickly everything had fallen apart.

Removing the cloth from his nose, he flicked his wrist, and his broken nose was repaired in a pinch. Kids.

…

Charming paced restlessly along the path in front of the hospital. Time and again, he tried to wrap his mind around the concept at hand, though the lump was still lodged in his throat. Snow simply lowered her weary body onto a bench despite the chill of Maine weather and was helpless to drive the madness from his head.

Emma was not his daughter. Rumpelstiltskin was her biological father. Emma was not his daughter…

No. He would always think of Emma as his daughter, no matter what curse befell their world. Gods, he could remember holding her in his arms as he fended off the Queen's knights. He remembered kissing her on the forehead before safely shutting her away in the wardrobe, a one-way ticket to a foreign world. He could recall whispering to her, his final words: _Find us. _And she did.

Was this fate's cruel joke? A last attempt to rip away his happiness?

A picture began molding inside his mind, clear as day now. It was the day of his mother's passing, with Snow's palm extended and that old superstitious necklace swinging rhythmically. And Snow's excited sigh: _I'm having a child. _Just not with him. It pierced him like the sharpest sword in the armory.

"How long have you known?" It came out sounding like an accusation, though he surely never meant it to be. The anxiety spiraling across Snow's gentle features added a new layer of guilt to his shoulders. Breathing in deeply, her lips parted for explanation.

"After I had the…miscarriage…"

Together they winced in unison—Snow out of fresh heartache, Charming out of slight jealousy. It was another reminder of a time when his wife had been carrying that imp's child. Not that he blamed Snow. Rumpelstiltskin could be quite manipulative when it suited him.

"I had a dream about drinking that potion again. The one that encouraged Emma's birth. I think I started to figure it out during our time by the river, but I didn't fully realize it until now," she explained, keeping one hand over her belly. It must have pained her to no end, losing one child in this world and fearful of losing the other a second time.

Beside her, Henry avidly flipped through his book and pointed to a page. It had an obvious illustration of Snow.

"I just read the book," he said, shrugging.

Charming glanced at the page curiously, but chose not to read it. Part of him did not want to know any more than he already did. His hand flew to his side, an empty hip. He suddenly wished he knew where his sword was. He'd unsheathe it, storm down to the pawnshop, stride right up the counter, point his sword at Rumpelstiltskin's chest, and say—

"It will be alright, Charming," Snow's strong voice intercepted his little daydream. "Together, we can best this. It doesn't change anything." Snow reassured him as she always did, sitting forward on the bench in her positive enthusiasm. Henry appeared to believe it, but Charming noticed the way Snow's fingers curled over the seat of the bench. She was just as bothered as he was.

"Snow, let's not stoop to lying to ourselves. This changes everything. Right now, our daughter—_your _daughter—is at the pawnshop, speaking to her biological father. In case either of us have forgotten….you're telling me that's _not_ me."

He was unaware his voice had climbed several octaves until several people hurrying past on the streets turned in their direction. Desperate to hide the river of emotions building inside, his voice had grown raw and broke easily. In a second, Snow was beside him and he was gazing into her brilliant emerald eyes, her hand resting on his cheek.

"What if…Emma no longer recognizes me as her father?"

There it was—his greatest fear tossed to the winds. That, he knew, would be his undoing. To see the detachment and distance in Emma's eyes…The worry was reflected in Snow's eyes and he understood that he did not share the burden alone. Before Snow could manage a single syllable, Henry jumped up.

"She will, I know it," he insisted. Snow gratefully smiled down at him and ruffled his hair, something Henry was starting to dislike already. "Aw, Grandma," he complained, ducking out from under her fingers. It actually made the corners of Charming's lips lift, but only for a moment.

"Henry is right. You are everything Emma is searching for in her father," Snow told him sincerely. She stepped close to embrace him, which he gladly returned. Laying his head perfectly on her crown, he savored her warmth and security.

"I'll still kill him," he muttered into Snow's ear. He could sense the tension in her body, but he didn't mind it. To allow this to pass unaddressed would be to surrender fealty to Rumpelstiltskin. He'd give that imp a piece of his mind about impregnating his wife. Well, first he'd have to locate his sword. And _then_ he would be giving him a piece of his mind.

"No need," Emma's no-nonsense voice came from behind them. Snow and Charming immediately spun on their heels to see her approaching them with a sour expression on her face. Charming figured it didn't go well with Rumpelstiltskin—a notion he was secretly proud of.

"You spoke to Go—Rumpelstiltskin?" Snow had been the first to regain her voice. Henry shoved past them to study his mother with infinite curiosity. There was a shrug of Emma's leather-clad shoulders and the tiniest hint of a smirk.

"If you count the way my fist talked to his face, then yes," she answered boldly. Snow mouth dropped open in surprise while Charming had the urge to do cartwheels down Storybrooke's main street. Still, the greatest obstacle was not won yet. Henry was in the same boat as him, torn between giggling and waiting for more information.

"You…_punched_….Rumpelstiltskin? Emma, he is…he's…" Emma expertly rolled her eyes at her biological mother's fretting. No doubt she'd had time to practice while living with Mary Margaret. The only encounter he had ever really had with Emma was when she was forced to question him after Kathryn's disappearance. Not exactly a lovely father-daughter outing.

"He's my father? Yeah, I know. Depends on your definition of father," she shot back.

It was then that Emma's green eyes—so determined and brave like her mother's—finally landed on Charming. Something in her expression softened as she took a few steps forward, but all he did was wait for any idea of her stance on their relationship. Slowly, Emma resembled a child seeking comfort, watching him with uncertainty. He could hardly breathe under the weight of her stare.

"Dad?" The minute the word left her mouth, Charming's resolve crashed to his feet in shards.

Gently, he reached out and pulled Emma into his arms and she never resisted. Warm water pooled under his eyelids as he embraced his daughter and suddenly he realized that she was fighting back tears all the same as she returned the gesture. Over her shoulder, Snow made a small dip of her head as if to say _see? I told you so. _

"I'm here, Emma. I'm never leaving you again. I will protect you," he promised her with all his heart.

….

_**Thank you all for the amazing reviews for the last chapter! You guys got this story over 100 reviews. (-; **_

_**To DragonRose4: I think I answered most of your concerns in this chappie. But of course there is still more to come! I finally figured out an ending to this story (not spoiling or anything) and I think it will work out well. Keep reading!**_

_**To Lavender Leo: I must say, I adore throwing in juicy plot twists. Keeps the story fresh, don't you think? Plus, I wanted to be daring! And THANK YOU for thanking me about the whole hypocritical Snow/Whale one-night stand drama. Seriously, there was one point on this show where Kathryn thought she was pregnant. Explain that, Charming! Thank you for the wonderful review, though!**_

_**To Twyla Merecedes: Hmm…it seems I should send a delicious fruit basket to that perceptive reader who was the first to figure out my plot twist of having Emma be Rumpel's daughter. Oh, yes, that was you! (-; Thanks for all the support and reviews. I appreciate it!**_

_**To thedoctorsgirl42: Ah, the old 'we were cursed" explanation. Capable of mending any bridge after the curse is broken, I think. Glad you're enjoying the story and I hope you keep reading!**_

_**The Sky Pirate Girl: Thanks for the review! I hope the wait for this chapter wasn't too terrible. **_

_**To BlooperLover: Dun, dun, dun! I say this plot twist is about as freaky as the theory that Bae is Henry's father. Oh, well. All in good fun, right? Thanks for the review!**_

_**To Leira1990: It's okay if you haven't been able to keep up regularly; life does intrude sometimes. Seriously, the third episode reminded me of my story as well. I actually started to get the feeling that Rumpel might pop up and offer his assistance to Snow in order for her to have Emma…and then it never happened. *Sigh* Well, I'm still going with it. Thanks for reading, anyhow. **_

_**To Value My Heart: Aw, thank you for the review—I'm glad you like the story. That's all I need to hear, dearie! (-;**_

_**Thank you everyone for your reviews! Enjoy this week's OUAT episode. Until next time, then!**_


	34. Chapter 34

_**A/N: Hello, readers! I hope you all enjoyed your Thanksgiving and ate plenty of turkey. I know it's been a little while since I last updated, but this chapter is an extra long one. A lot of good stuff happens and I hope everyone enjoys it. **_

For all the raging emotions consuming her, Regina would not be very surprised if Dr. Whale—Frankenstein, she corrected—called her up and recommended Archie on the spot. Once in a while she would suffer intense mood swings, but if she was being dreadfully honest, she had not been happy in a long time.

Those brief moments of content, stemming from the ruin of someone's day, were shreds of heaven tossed to her like a treat. But it wasn't enough. Every now and then, she would fail to catch that treat in her jaws. More often than not, Regina would fall. And when she fell to the bottom of that pitiful, lonely well, she fell _hard. _

Tonight was a perfect example of the shadow of despair cloaking her shoulders. It seemed to take all her efforts to conquer the pathway leading to her front door and slip the key inside the lock. She already knew it would be hopelessly empty inside without her son. Her son, taken away by that awful, snippy, no-good Emma Swan.

_Emma_ was given a perfectly sweet happy ending with the son she had tossed away once upon a time and the loathsome parents who shipped her to Maine in a tree. How sweet. By sweet, she meant downright revolting. Enough to make her stick her finger down her throat and upchuck all the sour blackness that had pooled into her stomach.

Regina kicked off her black heels at the door, not caring where they landed. The soles of her feet ached as she wandered into the dining room without bothering to switch on any lights to guide her way. The darkness was her friend and an enemy to those useless, love-praising Charming's.

For a moment, she paused before the mirror hanging above the dusty china cabinet in the dining room, though it was too shadowy to see her reflection in the glass. That wretched Snow White and her rotten daughter had ruined everything she had.

Everything was gone—her son, her power in Storybrooke. She was lucky to have escaped with her beauty. The urge to smash that mirror into tiny, glittering shards made her fingers curl into hooks. She wanted to pretend that mirror was their delicate faces, her nails grinding into their beating hearts.

Instead, Regina whistled lowly to regain her composure and snatched up the glass pitcher of apple cider she kept on the china cabinet. For emergencies, mainly. Tonight, it was life or death. The amber liquid poured into the tumbler and she raised it to her crimson lips, craving its sweetness.

"I would have preferred tea."

The tumbler halted a mere inch from her mouth. Regina's muscles tensed, the fine hairs on the back of her neck rising as she registered the presence that escaped her notice before. How foolish of her. Slowly, she forced her body to relax and she wondered how he'd managed to intrude her sanctuary twice.

"Flimsy locks," he mocked, as though reading her mind.

Slowly, Regina set the tumbler of apple cider down on the china cabinet. Teeth gritting, she stared into the glass of the mirror, but could not make out any moving shadow within its reflection. He was invisible, yet she refused to turn around. She refused to play to his satisfaction.

"What the hell are you doing in my house?" It was a harsh whisper, but she knew he heard it. Nothing ever surpassed Rumpelstiltskin. When no answer immediately came, she could not resist taking a jab at him, for old times' sake. "Already bored with your little mistress? Or did she finally wake up and realize how much of an insolent monster you truly are?"

Oh, yes. She could sense his rage now, brimming and crackling with electricity. His precious Snow White regained her former self and rushed into Charming's arms…not Rumpelstiltskin's. It made her want to laugh.

"It seems I should be the one making the accusations, Your Majesty," he hissed.

His voice was fairly close; hanging on his every syllable, she quickly placed him in the corner of the room, probably lounging in one of her fine mahogany dining chairs. If those disgusting feet of his were on her table, she'd have his head over her fireplace. Clutching the tumbler, she finally revolved, her eyes settling over the darker shadow at the edge of the dining table belonging to him. As if to ease her mind, he visibly leaned forward.

"Why so hesitant? _Please, _sit," he demanded, urging one of the dining chairs out with a kick of his foot. Regina's gaze flickered to the crooked chair once, but ignored his order. It had felt so deliciously good to defy his command the first time; now, that sense of power returned like a long-awaited drug.

"It seems your "pleases" have lost their punch," she retorted, smirking. In her mind, she pictured his eyes narrowing, the lines of anxiety creasing his skin and revealing his age, his knuckles tightening around that cane of his with a silent threat. He never enjoyed hearing the word 'no.'

The darkest shadow heightened as he stood from the table, his cane thudding against the floor as he approached her. Regina instinctively flattened her body against the china cabinet, but he stopped at the end of the dining table, a couple feet from where she stood. The rush of her awakened magic scorched her veins, ready for use. _Why so hesitant?_

"That may be…" He softly admitted, much to her content. However, she wasn't prepared for the abrupt flick of his wrist, a wave of magic enveloping her.

The glass tumbler reeled from her grip, shattering on the floor. Her feet launched into the air, her body colliding against the dining table. Pain shot through her ribs, but it was the least worry on her mind as his hands scrambled over her waist, forcing her to roll over to stare up at him. Before she could utter an obscenity at his rashness, his hand circled her throat, instantly cutting off her air supply and pinning her down to the table.

"Unfortunately for you, my power has returned strong as ever," he breathed heavily, his breath warming the lobe of her ear.

Lungs burning, Regina gasped for an ounce of oxygen as his fingers curled menacingly against the hollow of her throat, where her heart pounded hardest. Her nails raked across the skin of his hand, begging for release, only to have him squeeze tighter. Black spots danced in front of her eyes as his lips, so close to her face, lifted in a sneer.

"You dared to hurt Mary Margaret. You took away our unborn child. You lied about Belle's death, locked her away to be your personal pet mouse."

Against the pressure in her throat, the revelation made Regina's eyes boggle. Or perhaps it was the fierceness of his grip going to her head. All she could picture was that solemn, deteriorating girl in the basement of the hospital; a delicate flower withering to dust. _He knew? But…no…_

"Oh, yes. I know about Belle. You've lost your hidden ace and now…I'm the one holding all the cards. Give me one reason why I shouldn't rip that filthy black heart out of your chest and crush it in the palm of my hand. I _dare_ you."

Regina's bare legs thrashed underneath his weight, unable to force him away. The only sound that fell from her lips was a pattern of guttural noises, illogical to human ears. Oh, God, everything was blurry and consciousness was a thin thread splintering apart. She could feel his free hand tracing her skin, down to her chest, pausing directly over that tender spot that carried her heart. She tried to cry out, but it was no use.

"Forgive me, Your Majesty. I didn't quite catch that plea," he taunted. Miraculously, his fingers loosened around her throat, enough for her to suck in a thick gale of air and voice her concerns. Her lungs seemed to spasm as oxygen came, her throat as sore as if someone forced a red-hot piece of iron down into her stomach.

"Go to hell," she rasped.

Clawing her nails into his skin, she used the rest of her energy to channel that sleeping bit of magic within her. Though it was weak, a ring of fire scorched his hand, blistering it upon contact. Growling in pain, his grip eased up on her throat and she shoved him backwards into the china cabinet.

Stumbling, he sent a pulse of tremendous power in her direction, but she dove to the floor. The mirror and the windows exploded, showering her body with fragments of tiny daggers. Regina suddenly wished the ground would open up and swallow her, anything to get away from Rumpelstiltskin's wrath.

With a snap of her wrist, a black cloud smothered her and she felt her body slip away from her dining room. Angrily, he lifted the pitcher of apple cider and flung it toward her, but it was too late. The cider splashed across the ground just as the cloud faded.

Regina was gone.

….

Regina tumbled from the cloud, landing painfully on her side. A flume of dust wrapped around her, choking her. God, it was still so difficult to breathe properly and her skin was so sore from where Rumpelstiltskin's fingers had grabbed onto her. No doubt there would be terrible brown bruises there tomorrow.

Lifting her head, she gazed around at her new surroundings. It was a winding tunnel, carved from the earth and covered with thick roots. She was in the heart of the mines. When she wished to burrow somewhere deep to escape Rumpelstiltskin's wrath, this wasn't exactly what she had in mind.

But it would have to do.

It was the last place they'd search for her. Even better, the tunnels ran underneath the entire of Storybrooke, even as far as the borders. If she could find the location of the borders, she could easily cross it and be safe from those that were trying to interfere. She would laugh if Rumpelstiltskin foolishly followed her across the border—Mr. Gold was so much easier to deal with.

As she rose to her feet, she winced. A jagged shard of glass was buried in her hip. Gritting her teeth, she yanked it out and the warmth of blood stained her clothing.

Every muscle in her body ached in protest, but that's what she got for transporting after 28 years of disuse. She half-expected one of her limbs to be severed off or one of her fingers to be mysteriously missing.

Using the grimy wall for support, Regina began to move one step at a time. Rage flushed her face and fueled her efforts. Those idiots thought they could best her. They thought they deserved to be happy. How wrong they were. They would all pay, each and every last one.

But first, she was taking back her child.

…..

_Some things don't change, _Snow mused wistfully as she fixed herself a soothing cup of coffee and perched on the window seat in her apartment, the same as Mary Margaret had done on most mornings. Emma would wake up and head to work at the station, Henry would be convinced to go to school and then sneak away from the bus…

If Charming hadn't been dozing on the couch, she might have even hurried out the door to Granny's Diner at 7:15 a.m.

Snow's smile weakened over the rim of her coffee as the sky darkened, the clouds as black as those before a deadly storm. A shiver slid along her spine as the wind's chill decreased, biting into her skin through the window. Something was coming.

"Charming? Emma!" Snow could not tear her eyes from the window. Charming grunted and rolled off the couch, slamming into the floor. He picked himself up and swayed toward her, still half-asleep. Emma rushed out of her room, fully dressed and tying her long blonde hair back in a ponytail.

The two of them faltered as their eyes noticed what had caught Snow's attention so raptly. The swirling black clouds bled over one another and parted in other places, revealing a strip of the milky sky. In the streets below, people emerged from their cars and shops to stare up at the abrupt shift in weather.

Snow blinked once and suddenly the clouds took on a whole new meaning. Somehow, the clouds appeared less like random storm clouds, instead forming into Regina's face. It was impossible, but it was there, hanging above their heads like a sign of death.

"Is that…?" Emma murmured, rubbing her eyes in case it was a trick of the light, an illusion. All Charming could do was clench his jaw and rest a sturdy hand of comfort on Snow's shoulder. A low hiss rose in the air and then Regina's voice haunted their ears.

_You think you've won, but the war is not over yet. I want my son. I _will _claim my son. Any who dare to defy me or stand in my way will suffer a slow, painful death. Tonight, I will come for him. Tonight, you will lose. _

As rapidly as the clouds swarmed, they were gone. There was no trace of Regina's face, as though it had been a mirage brought on by lack of sleep. Everyone's minds recanted Regina's threat, yet no one could speak a word. Snow clutched her mug of coffee, which was now trembling. _She's coming…for Henry…_

"Let her come," Emma boldly brushed it off, turning away from the window. She continued with her early morning routine like that last minute or so had never happened. "That woman never knows when to quit. She'll never get near Henry."

"Henry," Snow repeated dreamily. "Is he awake?" Snow glanced wonderingly at Charming and breathed a sigh of relief when Emma shook her head confidently. The last thing Snow wanted was for Henry to worry about the Queen. "Tell him…tell him he won't be going to school today."

Snow hastily sipped her coffee, only to find that it had cooled completely.

…..

"No dragons outside the window, no trolls under the bed, and no evil queens inside the closet," Charming announced as he tucked Henry into bed for the night.

The Queen's threat had left the entire town in shambles, some even claiming they wanted to leave. Charming, Snow, and Emma had spent a whole day keeping Henry in close sight, playing board games and having him help Snow cook in the kitchen. After a nice cup of cocoa and plenty of ravaging tales to fill his dreams, the kid's eyes were crossing. Still, he laughed at Charming's show of parental duties.

"Gramps, I'm ten years old. I'm not afraid of dragons or the Evil Queen," he boasted, glancing quickly to the wooden sword Charming had given him. It was meant to be used for practice, establishing him as a knight in training. Maybe one day they could return to the Enchanted Forest and Henry could slay a real dragon with a real sword.

Charming eased himself onto the edge of Henry's bed; Henry shifted his legs aside to make room.

"What about trolls? Nasty, smelly creatures," Charming told him, hooking his fingers into claws. Henry wasn't intimidated. In fact, it only served to fascinate him even more. Trolls simply did not exist in this world, unless you referred to the Internet kind. "Did I ever tell you about the time Snow and I bested a couple of trolls on the Troll Bridge?"

Henry shook his head, eyes widening with anticipation. He'd read about Snow and Charming's fated journey in his book, but it was another thing to hear it directly from the horse's mouth, so to speak. Sleep scurried away as he sat up in bed to listen.

"Well, it was during our first journey together. Snow had traded some of my family's jewels to a batch of foul trolls and so the two of us journeyed to the Troll Bridge to get them back. Truthfully, the only item I cared for was the emerald ring. It had belonged to my mother." Henry's eyes flashed with recognition.

"The one you gave Snow White," he pointed out. Charming nodded, but did not deter from the story.

"When we got there, there were no trolls to be seen. But you could smell them coming—it's so revolting, it could make you pass out from the stench," he exclaimed. Henry wrinkled his nose, but couldn't hide the elated grin sliding over his face as the picture painted itself in his head. "The massive beasts crawled over the sides of the bridge, surrounding us. There were easily five of them on my side. I tell you, we would have gotten those jewels back without violence, but they pegged me for a royal. Trolls aren't very fond of royals."

Henry scooted forward, submersed in the story. Despite having read it more than a few times, his excitement won out.

"And then what happened? You took them all on, right?" Charming held up a hand to calm him.

"Snow managed to escape them and headed into the forest, but the trolls flanked me on all sides. But I was not worried or afraid. No, I looked those nasty trolls in the eye as they closed in on me, I lifted my sword above my head, and—"

"That is _not_ what happened and you know it," Snow's voice interrupted from behind him. Henry and Charming both looked to see her standing in the doorway, a soft condescending smile on her lips. Charming sheepishly grinned and shrugged down at Henry.

"Okay, maybe I'm over-exaggerating a little," he admitted. Snow raised an eyebrow and wandered into the room. Charming rose to meet her and looked almost taken aback as Snow met his eye.

"A little? Henry, I saved your grandfather from those trolls. If it weren't for me running back and wasting that fairy dust, he'd probably be hanging off the side of the bridge as their new decoration," she argued. Charming gave a half-smile, but did not object to Snow's claims. Henry sank back into bed as he sensed the story was over. "Aren't you supposed to be sleeping right about now?"

"It was just one more story," he protested. Charming leaned down and kissed his forehead, escaping the room before Snow could blow any more cannonballs through his macho story-telling. Henry yawned and brought the blanket closer to his chin. "Besides, I couldn't fall asleep."

Snow switched off the lamp on his bedside table, casting the room into darkness. She made sure the covers were nestled comfortably around his body and pressed a kiss to his head, just as Charming had done moments before. Her hand rustled through his hair and he smiled as she hesitated next to his bed.

"Would you like me to stay here with you until you fall asleep?" Henry's eyes drifted closed and he nodded lazily. Snow propped herself on the edge of his bed, holding him in her embrace until he was teetering on the fringes of sleep. Minutes passed before the bed creaked and Snow's weight left the mattress. "Goodnight, Henry."

….

Regina had done it. She had crossed the border without harm. Perhaps it was because she was the one to cast the curse or the fact that she did not possess any false lives or memories, unlike the countless victims she'd swept from their land.

Either way, she knew the moment she stepped beyond Storybrooke's limits. She sensed the moment she penetrated that thick, invisible wall that separated their town from the outside world. It was like walking through water, but before the discomfort could settle in, she was beyond it and she felt fine. No loss of memory, no broken bones, no unexplainable cataclysmic events.

She was free. _It's proof, s_he gleefully thought as she stared down at her hands. No ugly discoloration or illness plaguing her. No warts, spots, or other disfigurements. She smiled victoriously. _I shall win. _

Tonight was the night she'd retrieve Henry once more. She'd been practicing magic down here in the tunnels all day, miles away from anyone that ventured down into the mines. Strengthening her power, becoming familiar with her tricks….she was ready. She'd even healed most of her wounds from Rumpelstiltskin's attack.

Henry belonged to her; he was rightly her son before he was Emma's, really. The fact that Emma Swan had birthed him was irrelevant.

Bending down to the dim, dusty ground, Regina placed a hand flat against the cool earth and summoned that well of magic once more. Under her touch, the earth quivered and the spirals of roots slid along the walls, having been given a life all their own. An age-old trick, but one of her favorites. _Bring him to me, _she willed the vines, controlling them as she would any of her limbs.

They would be together again, soon.

Maybe when she was through taking Henry back, she would send the vines to seek out Rumpelstiltskin and his precious love and smother them in their sleep. She'd be doing Storybrooke a favor, after all.

….

It seemed like years before Snow gathered up the strength to close the door to Henry's bedroom, leaving it open just a crack for the milky hall light to pool in and comfort Henry as he slumbered.

With burdening unease, she descended the rickety stairs to where her husband resided. In the warmth of the living room, he sat in one of the old, peeling white chairs with a genuine sword in his lap. Rhythmically, he rubbed a rag across the blade, shining it.

For a long moment, she remained by the foot of the stairs, watching him as he worked. She missed that fearless valor etching his face and the way his blue eyes brightened when met with a challenge. Briefly, her eyes flickered to the blankets he'd set up on the couch, where he was intending to sleep.

"You know, it's been twenty-eight years since we've shared a bed. Are you sure the couch would be preferable?" Charming glanced up and smiled at her. Regarding the bunch of blankets, he shrugged.

"I don't think Emma is comfortable enough yet to accept the notion of us sleeping in the same bed and all that goes with it," he answered, trying hard to hide the color that was rising along his neck. Snow thought it was…charming.

"Why not? Mary Margaret and David were having an affair and Emma knew very well about that," she pointed out. Then again, Mary Margaret and David Nolan hadn't been her parents, just two people falling in love. It made her muse on the fact that she was practically the same age as her daughter, which was more than any mother could say.

"Yes, but Mary Margaret and David never…I mean they didn't go as far as…" Charming gestured blindly with his hand. She nodded, getting the message. Mary Margaret and David's relationship had been strictly…naïve. Pushing off the banister, Snow approached Charming and brushed a hand along the muscle of his shoulder blade.

"Henry's finally asleep," she announced as she sank into the chair opposite him and watched him eagerly.

Those hands of his always enchanted her—how they could somehow apply so much effort yet remain so gentle. It was one of the things she loved about him. Of course, the tender, golden smile didn't hurt, either. The one he was brandishing right now, bringing out the dimple in his right cheek.

"Are you positive? Because last time I put him to bed, I'm fairly certain he was only pretending to be asleep. You know how sneaky that kid can be," he teased, his ocean eyes proving to be a contestant in terms of shine. The sword looked rather dull in comparison.

Snow's eyelids drooped sleepily and a ghost of a smile played on her lips. The breaking of the curse and the unleashing of her true memories had taken its toll on her; she felt like she hadn't slept in years.

"Just like his mother," she whispered, her gaze inevitably sliding to Emma's closed bedroom door. Maybe it was the twenty-eight years she'd missed or the overwhelming surge of protectiveness inside her chest, but Snow had routinely peered in to check on her, too. She couldn't help it. The memories had brought a torrent of joy, ache, love, longing, and sadness all at once.

As if sensing her distress, Charming lowered the sword into his lap and laid his slightly sweaty palm over hers, squeezing for added comfort.

"It will be okay, Snow. Trust me. She's lucky to have you as her mother," he assured her with all the confidence in the whole of the Enchanted Forest. Patting her hand, he returned to the task of polishing the old sword. Meanwhile, her lips parted in mild disbelief.

"As lucky as to have you as her father," she reminded him.

The hurt reflected in his face before he could maintain the peaceful, heroic attitude he'd been varnishing relentlessly ever since awakening from being David Nolan. Deeply, he sighed, lines of anxiety creasing the skin around his eyes.

"I know. Part of me keeps replaying that moment over and over, of Emma accepting me as her father. You don't know how relieved I was to hear her say it, to hold her in my arms like I was being given a second chance."

Snow tilted her head inquisitively as she observed him. Every word resonated deep within her, every syllable mirroring the fears she'd secretly nurtured in the Enchanted Forest. What if Emma chose not to accept them as her parents? What if she pushed them away, resented them for shipping her in a wardrobe to Mane to escape the curse and save them?

From the time she'd "woken", all she could do was recount on the priceless twenty-eight years of Emma's life she had missed with the gut-wrenching sensation of having the rug pulled out from underneath her feet.

While Emma was growing up, enduring high school, finding love, dealing with a parentless life, Mary Margaret Blanchard had been situated in Storybrooke, Maine, teaching endless groups of children that never aged and heading home every night wondering what she was missing. And David Nolan had been married to some other woman, stuck in a coma, showing little signs of recovery. It wasn't fair, but life rarely was.

"And the other part of you?" Charming glanced up as if he had lost track of the conversation they were having. It was her turn to reach out and caress his arm as he shrugged.

"The other part of me is struggling to accept the fact that that twisted imp tricked you and now he's bound to be involved in our lives for more than I am comfortable with." Snow smiled sadly, but did not make any point of attesting to the fact that Rumpelstiltskin was inevitably bound to them through Emma, for better or worse.

A muscle twitched in Charming's jaw as he lifted the sword and dug the point of the blade into the cracks of the floorboards.

"Today I went down to that pawnshop to retrieve this sword, so that I could protect my family against Regina. Do you know how many times I thought about driving this blade through his heart in the span of those two minutes? Simply for what he did to you?"

Slowly, Snow reeled in her hand, causing Charming to jerk up at the loss of her touch. It was becoming difficult to sort out these demanding emotions now that her head was crowded with two lives. Though she would never voice it to Charming, she wondered if Mary Margaret had been the one to fall for Mr. Gold or if the forbidden attraction had grown its roots all those years ago by the river. Finally, she touched the golden teardrop that still decorated her neck.

"Obviously, you didn't," she whispered. Charming did not share her tack of optimism. Instead, his fingers curled around the hilt of the sword, forming a pale ladder.

"Why is that so obvious, Snow?" The answer was lost to her tongue—she did not know how to explain to Charming the extent of Rumpelstiltskin's power. She'd once witnessed him change that poor guard into a snail and crush him with a single stomp of his boot. His power and magic were as dangerous as they were seductive. Charming apparently read it in her face. "You don't think I'm capable of defeating a monster like him? Snow, I've slayed a dragon, I've fought slews of soldiers, I've bested the charms of a siren…for you."

She didn't think it'd be helpful to point out that slaying a dragon was in another category entirely from Rumpelstiltskin.

"No, I know you have. You have done more for the sake of true love than any man I have ever known," she said, gently tracing a hand along his face. "But, Charming, you are a shepherd turned prince…and he is the Dark One."

She shrugged in apology as his pride crumbled. Oh, she always felt her heart crack wide open whenever he wore those puppy eyes. Abruptly, he uplifted the sword from the floorboards.

"I came this close," he insisted, holding his thumb and forefinger close together with barely an inch between them. "If you invite him for dinner, there shall be one empty seat at the table. You can count on me ordering out Chinese."

"Not if it isn't Thursday," she remarked, her usual warm persona resurfacing. Even Charming had to quirk a smile from that one.

It was a good thing she didn't have any current plans for a family dinner—she didn't know how well Charming or Rumpelstiltskin would behave if they were sitting across the table from each other. Snow would end up being the telephone between them. _Snow, tell the imp to pass the butter. Snow, tell that foolish shepherd to stop hogging the salt. _

It would be lovely.

The scrape of Charming's chair forced Snow back to the present. He experimentally swung his sword in the manner of a baseball bat, the soft glow of the lamps gleaming along the blade. If he broke something, he would just have to trade the sword for a broom and clean it himself.

"No worries, Snow. Regina won't get anywhere near my family. I'll protect all of you, no matter what," he vowed, resting the sword on the table. Snow's green eyes flickered to Emma's door again.

"I worry most about Henry. So does Emma. You know Regina will most likely make good on her word to get her son back," Snow pointed out, though it burned her tongue to admit that Henry was a rightful son in the Queen's eyes. Charming's expression grew grave, until he was nothing but downright serious.

"Snow, Henry's _not_ her son. He'll be safe. I'll keep him safe, if it is the last thing I do. I promise." Kneeling before her, he gently caught her hands in his and kissed the crown of her soft, dark head. For a moment, they lounged peacefully in each other's presence, soaking up the comfort and security between them.

And that was when the screaming started.

Instantly, Charming shot to full height and spun toward the direction of the scream, spiraling its way down the stairs. Snow jumped up from her chair, knocking it over. Emma's door burst open and she appeared, alarmed and alert, sporting a pistol.

"Please tell me you two are watching horror movies," she gasped, waving the gun in each corner of the room. But the truth settled heavily among them, their attention snapping to the staircase as another set of cries broke the silence.

"It's Henry," Snow murmured. Before they even registered the act of moving, the three of them were halfway up the stairs, hurrying as fast as their legs would carry them to Henry's bedroom. Snow only sent up a prayer that they were not already too late.

…

It was quiet in Henry's bedroom, yet he could not seem to fall asleep. Tossing and turning, eyelids squeezed shut, the blankets bunched up around his neck. The clock on the bedside table would not stop ticking. The ceiling fan lazily circulated, the blades casting shadows that matched its pattern of movement.

No matter what, sleep would not come. He thought it might be because of the stories Prince Charming told him, which even now resurrected inside his head with notions of slaying fierce dragons, defeating evil kings and queens, and rescuing princesses from doom.

There was a haunting creak, sending shivers along Henry's nerves and wiping away all the elation from those adventurous stories. Jolting up in bed and wide awake, he looked across the room to his door, now slightly ajar.

Maybe it was Snow or Charming or Emma checking up on him to make sure he was sleeping. Or did Charming sneak up here to tell him another tale? But then why didn't he stick his head inside or open the door wider?

"Snow?" Henry chirped, his heart starting to pound. He couldn't fight the tremor that had overwhelmed him. There was no answer from the doorway and beyond it were the cloaked shadows of the hall, penetrated here and there by the dim hall light. His fingers curled on the mattress, his mouth twisting into an uncertain pout.

Of course it would be Snow or Charming or Emma. Who else could it possibly be? The Queen?

But Henry was a victim to the seed of doubt planting in his mind. Something wasn't right here.

A thin breeze skittered across the skin, its breath icy as death itself and making him shiver involuntarily. That was odd. How long had the window been open? Had he fallen asleep after all, allowing Snow or Emma to creep in and open it? No, he was sure he'd notice the cold.

Tossing the covers back, he slid out of bed and braced the chill of the night air as he approached the window, intent on closing it. His hands banged on it, but it refused to budge. Sucking in his breath, he forced more of his weight on it. An inch or two at a time it lowered, sticking every now and then. With a stroke of determination, Henry used all his strength on the window, his knee propped up on the windowsill to gain leverage.

It happened so fast that Henry could barely react.

As the window lowered another inch or so, something dark and slimy latched onto Henry's wrist, clinging like a leech. It circled and tightened until it nearly cut off his circulation. Gasping, Henry was distracted from the window and pried at the strenuous strand on his arm, similar to a thick, dewy black vine. With a life of its own, it began pulling him toward the open window.

_The Queen, _Henry automatically knew. This was her magic. She was making her move, taking him back.

Frantically, he dug his heels into the floorboards as the window came closer, his free hand scrambling for something to grab onto, but it was no use. The vine curled around endlessly, tugging him against the windowsill in hopes to drag him through it. His fingers gripped the glass of the window, his teeth gritting as he struggled against it.

It must have been a miracle, but the window slipped from underneath his hold. It slammed down, slicing the crawling vine in half. The vine seemed to give a high-pitched shriek as it loosened around his wrist, crumbling and decaying into old dust. The strain of the root left crude red scars on his arm and it tingled as the feeling came back.

Breathing harshly in and out, Henry backed away from the window. The worst was over…right? The Queen would retreat and know she'd been defeated and that he wasn't going anywhere with her…

As if to prove him wrong, the air horribly thickened and crackled with the electricity of magic. A thresh of ebony roots crashed through the window, shattering it. Shards of glass rained down on him, glittering on the floor. The roots spilled over the windowsill, slithering along the walls and floorboards, slippery as serpents and just as swift.

Turning, Henry dashed for the bedroom door, but the vines—and the Evil Queen controlling them via her magic—were too quick. Seizing his ankles, Henry tumbled headfirst to the hard floor, his elbows throbbing from the impact. Purposefully, the roots surrounded him, cradling him, wrapping around his legs like a writhing anaconda.

Henry opened his mouth and screamed while he still had the chance.

"_Emma!" _

…_._

Snow raced alongside Emma up the stairs, their feet thundering as violently as a herd of elephants. All that mattered was getting to Henry. The closer she came to him, the more she realized he was calling out for Emma, his voice desperate and raw. Unbeknownst to her, a wicked black root had crept along Henry's skin, toward his mouth to silence his cries for help.

Charming reached the upper hall first, but never made it to Henry's room. Halfway there, he tripped and sprawled across the floor on his stomach. Right behind him, Snow instinctively skidded on her heels, grinding to a halt. Emma's shoulder collided into her back, sending a burning pain along her shoulder blade.

"What's the hold-up?" Emma peered around Snow's body to where Charming lay on the carpet. Slowly he regained his composure and stood, brushing himself off. Suddenly, Emma grew tense and she pointed the gun to the floor at Charming's feet. "What the hell is _that?"_

Snow followed her gaze, squinting at the shadowy floor in question. Charming did the same and the two of them noticed it simultaneously. There was just enough dim light to see what Emma was talking about. Thick tendrils covered the carpet, bulging unnaturally around their feet. The blood in Snow's veins stopped cold as her eyes swam from the vines outside Henry's door to the broken hall window, the vines invading across the windowsill.

"This is her magic," Snow hissed, taking a step back from the vines unless they chose to capture her by the ankles. She remembered the Queen's ability to view others through the glass of a mirror. Was she watching now, waiting to strike? "I've seen it before. She controls vines and roots, oftentimes to capture the thing that evades her."

Snow closed her eyes, wishing this were a deadly dream. But Emma's hand clamped down on her shoulder, jolting her back to their reality.

"You've seen this? Where?" The unforgiving memories swarmed her brain, showing her images that she had stuffed into a drawer long ago. Stuffed tightly away with other cold, unwanted memories—the death of her father, Regina's blinding hatred, the suffering she had endured because of a mistake she'd made at age twelve.

The images unfolded one by one in perfect clarity; images of a woman in a royal, dark cloak in the castle grounds, manipulating the vines of a tree until it trapped an innocent white dove, smothering and choking it until its pure, snowy wings ceased flapping. She had been so young; she hadn't understood what it meant. Moreover, she hadn't wanted to. Gods, her voice still whispered now, those unforgiving ebony eyes seeking her out. _Snow…Snow, come join me. Perhaps I can teach you a thing or two…_

"From her mother," Snow choked out almost inaudibly. Charming's eyes grew wide as his toe nudged the snaking vines.

"Henry," he gasped, charging through the door like a soldier expecting death in battle. Emma quickly followed suit, holding her gun directly in front of her, prepared to fight for her son yet again. Snow's legs weighed as heavily as stone, taking a massive effort to draw one step toward Henry's bedroom door.

All she could envision, as her feet finally conquered the threshold, was that tiny white dove struggling in the merciless iron grasp of the black, twisting vines, even as it took its last breath.

…

Henry heard his bedroom door slam open and rebound against the wall, though he could not shift his head to see who it was. The vines seemed to multiply in the darkness, slipping underneath his body and restraining his limbs to form a cradle that would carry him to the Queen.

As the footsteps thundered into the room, he tried to call out—a futile feat since one thick black branch had trailed across his lips to stifle his screams. He had tried biting through it, but it only made a sticky, sweet sap spill into his mouth. It left a disgusting taste on the roof of his mouth.

"Henry!"

That was Emma! She would know how to rescue him; she was the savior, after all. Gunfire exploded through the room as a few bullets struck the vines crawling into the window. A few splintered in pieces, but was soon replaced with others just as fast and strong.

Rolling his eyes back, Henry could blurrily see Emma standing over him, gun in hand. His heart raced as a vine latched onto the weapon and whipped it from Emma's hand just as another one launched into her stomach. It flung her body across the room. Inside he was screaming, the noise muffled by the barrier across his lips. _Emma! _

Gritting his teeth, he forcibly wiggled among the vines, wrestling for freedom for the sole reason of Emma's safety, as if she were the victim in Regina's deadly fly trap. Snow knelt down beside him and tugged at the vines until her cheeks flushed pink. Her nails scraped along the strands, but they were impervious to her efforts.

"The sword," she demanded over her shoulder.

Charming's heavy boots pounded against the floorboards as he raced out of the room. Now Emma was kneeling on the other side of him, switching open a blade to hack the vines away. Every time she cut through one, another spawned in its place. As the Queen's magic lured him toward the window, Henry's eyes pleaded up at them. _Emma, hurry! You can't let her win. You can't let her take me!_

"Watch out," Charming's voice boomed overhead like a miraculous message from the heavens. Snow and Emma jumped up, allowing him to draw close to Henry. The prince rested a hand on Henry's head. "You'll be alright, kid. You're not going anywhere."

Carefully and slowly, Charming managed to slide the sword underneath the vines holding Henry, the blade raking across Henry's clothing until it tore. The black roots swarmed over it as though it were another of Henry's limbs. With one massive upward arc, Charming's sword sliced the vines all at once, shooting up into the air. The remains crumbled just as the first one had. The shrieking, writhing things disappeared from the window and the apartment grew eerily still.

It was over, the battle won.

Rasping for air, Henry stumbled backwards straight into Snow's arms. She held him tight against her chest, mostly for her own comfort, her fingers ruffling through his hair.

"I hate magic," Emma sighed morosely. She regained her balance, brow furrowed as she stared at the broken window. Only Charming seemed satisfied as he gripped that sword.

"You said he would be safe," Snow murmured, those green eyes frozen gems centered on Charming. Henry's body was like Jell-O, his muscles aching from the pressure of the vines.

"Henry is safe," Charming said, his fist tightening around the sword's hilt. "I cut him free, didn't I? I doubt she'll be stupid enough to return tonight." Snow sank her head on Henry's, rocking him back and forth in her embrace. He could only flick his eyes from Emma to Charming, words lost on his tongue.

"And what about the next night? Or the night after that?" It was as though Snow's worrying flipped a switch, inspiring Emma to move again. Her hardened eyes scanned the bedroom and she bent to retrieve her gun.

"We'll be ready for her. For starters, I recommend sleeping shifts tonight," she proposed, her eyes softening as they fell on Henry. Snow's lips parted and her eyebrows rose to her hairline.

"That's our plan? Wait until Regina makes another move?" Charming averted his gaze, refusing to meet her full-force. Emma's grew noticeably defiant. Her lips flattened until they were invisible against her pale skin.

"It's the best way to protect Henry right now. Regina's hiding somewhere in Storybrooke, out of our reach. Do you have any better suggestions?" Emma crossed her arms, awaiting an argument.

"Emma, please," Charming softly chided, but she was too focused on watching Snow debate with an answer to acknowledge his words. It was amazing how much of Snow's stubbornness Emma had obtained at birth. Snow fell silent, the pattern of thoughts inside her head known only to her. Emma dipped her head slightly and helped Henry up.

"I'll take the first shift. There's no way I'm getting back to sleep," Emma announced, accepting the sword from Charming.

Emma escorted Henry downstairs, where he would most likely crash on the couch for the rest of the night. It was a spot where they could each watch over him in turn. Charming extended his palm to Snow, smiling reassuringly. Forcing her own tight-lipped smile, Snow laid her hand in his and leaped up into the security of his arms.

Perhaps she was the only one willing to admit it, but it was inevitable that the Queen would strike again. The seed in Snow's mind bloomed into a full-grown flower as Charming ushered her from the icy bedroom, the gales of wind licking at their heels.

It was risky; it was dangerous; it was something that Snow wasn't sure she could share with Charming or Emma. At least not yet. But it was there, refusing to wither.

Snow would do anything to protect her family.

…

When Snow made up her mind, it was usually impossible to change. It was one of the qualities Emma had inherited from her, which would no doubt drive Charming up the wall at some point or another. Stubborn, strong-willed, willing to fight for those she cared for—Emma was more like her mother than she understood.

Likewise, it took a lot to rattle Snow and dig under her skin.

The memory of the night before made Snow's knees weak and her stomach plummet from the altitude of the world's tallest rollercoaster. All of them wanted to protect Henry from the Queen, but it was proving to be a daunting challenge. What if Regina attacked again, hurting one of them in the process to get to Henry?

Emma and Charming vowed to protect Henry on their own, with swords and guns. But Snow wasn't entirely certain that it would be enough to stop the Queen. Perhaps the only way to gain the upper hand was to beat her at her own game.

It was precisely why, at eight in the morning, her feet carried her straight to the pawnshop and the one person that could possibly help her.

Tugging open the door, Snow swept inside and scanned the front section of the shop. There was no sign of him, but she could sense his presence, as formidable as ever now that the curse had been broken. As she swallowed her impatience, she wandered toward the familiar glass baby mobile and studied it with a sharp pang of resonance.

The last time this mobile had been in her possession, it was hanging above Emma's white crib in their castle and the child in question was still being carried inside her, ready to be birthed into the world. Their world, the Enchanted Forest; not this one. It filled her with such tender ache that she could hardly breathe.

Hypnotically, her finger extended out to brush one of the unicorns. Closing her eyes peacefully, she was convinced she could smell the lilacs that decorated the baby's room and picture that last day, with the setting sun cascading over the glass mobile, making it sparkle as though encrusted in diamonds and Emma's demanding kick inside her belly…

"Come to take it back?"

Jumping away from the display case, Snow whirled to meet the rich, searing eyes she'd drowned in more than once. He lingered on the threshold between the front of the shop and the back, watching her intently. Her cheeks reddened at being caught off guard, though it brought a slight smirk to his lips. He always did enjoy sneaking up on others. According to the gleeful being in the Enchanted Forest, it was solely to make an entrance.

"Excuse me?" Snow sounded breathy and confused, even to her ears.

With his cane thudding on the floorboards, keeping in time with the beat of her heart, he swiftly crossed to her side. She noticed he made sure to keep a good few feet of distance, stopping at the very end of the display case.

"The mobile," he clarified, spreading a palm in its direction. The unicorns swayed in a light breeze and shook on their threads, as if shaking fearfully in Rumpelstiltskin's imposing presence. "You always did intend it for…Emma."

Her—no, _their_ daughter's name drawled from his lips, sadly and longingly. He must have used magic to mend the injury sustained from Emma's punch. If magic could heal unspeakable wounds—broken noses, severed limbs, deep and fatal lacerations—what else could it do?

"No, I'm not here for that," she admitted, clasping her hands together before her. The nerves in her body hummed with the purpose of which she had come to accept. "It's about Henry. Last night, the Queen used magic to try to take him from us."

"And you're here because you wish for me to protect him," he filled in the blanks of his own accord. With all the gracefulness of the magical being she once knew, he stalked around her body, his eyes gleaming darkly with anticipation.

_All magic comes with a price,_ the old warning whispered across her mind. But did all magic necessarily have to be left for evil, dangerous means? What if it was intended for protecting the ones you loved? If black magic existed, the type of unpredictable magic the Queen harnessed, then was there such a thing as white magic?

"No," Snow firmly declined, making him pause in step. She turned to hold his gaze boldly, which scrolled over her with unmasked suspicion. "I do not want to rely on someone else to protect my grandson. I must do something for him. I want to be able to protect him myself, to protect him from the Queen."

Exasperated, he released a deep, stubborn sigh. Obviously, this was not the reaction he'd been striving for. But Snow did not want to leave Henry's fate in the balance, hoping and waiting for some stroke of luck when the Queen struck again. And she would strike again—it was only a matter of time.

"Then what do you propose I do? What is it you really want?"

Snow slowly breathed in, breathed out. She knew the consequences of the decision that weighed heavily on her shoulders. On the heels of that thought, she knew she would be willing to sacrifice anything to keep her family safe. Once her mind was made up, there was no changing it.

So, it was with great determination and grave seriousness that Snow's emerald eyes—pure green as a sun-kissed field—locked with Rumpelstiltskin's earth-brown ones and she solemnly recited the words that had plagued her mind all throughout the restless night.

"I want you to teach me how to do magic."

….

_**I must thank all those that have read and reviewed recently—I appreciate all the support. Here's to DragonRose4, MissiB, Rainbowburst, BlooperLover, and thedoctorsgirl42. Thank you all for the awesome comments and interest in my story. Are you ready for a new episode tonight? (-; **_


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